Assassins
by SnarkyFanGirl
Summary: Rated for language. The war rages on, and the Ministry prepares to make a bold move with a group of people who have nothing left to lose.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Ron clutched the folder to his chest as the cold metal door banged shut behind him. Taking gigantic steps away from the old man's office, he allowed a whole minute to pass before he dared to look into the contents of the folder. This wasn't the way he would have done it, were it his decision to make. He glanced down at the names Dumbledore had etched into the parchment. Some made sense, for obvious reasons; others made no sense at all. His eyes traveled swiftly down the parchment, but when he saw the last name scrawled on the sheet, a great wave of anger overtook him. He stopped dead in the deserted hallway and his eyes bored into the name, even though he was not really seeing it.

His jaw clenched and he began to grind his teeth together as a myriad of things passed through his mind. That last name didn't belong there; it _had_ to be a mistake. Surely the old man had gone round the twist. He couldn't _really_ mean to put this combination of people together for any extended amount of time – they would kill each other before the thing had a chance to do any good. Although, now that he thought about it, killing was the lone objective - but it still didn't make sense to put such fragile people together, no matter what the cause.

He exhaled slowly, allowing his mind to wander as he took the long way back to his own meager office on the second level. He would speak to Hermione first; she'd know which tack to take with the recruits. He stopped breathing again as Hermione's face flashed in his mind. For years, he knew, she'd been waiting for him to ask her to marry him. Now, instead of proposing, he would ask her to become a murderer. Not just a murderer, but actually _training_ the others in the horrific sport. The thought made him cringe as he entered his office and shut the door behind him. He shoved his longish red hair out of his face automatically when he saw the woman sitting in his chair.

"I'm not in the mood for this today," he said, his voice full of the agitation he was feeling. The woman cocked her head to one side and gave him a feral smile. "What do you need, Parkinson?"

"Now is that any way to greet a lady?" she purred. His expression darkened.

"No, it's not. If you'd actually _been_ a lady, I'd have asked you if I could help you." Pansy laughed.

"You need to sign these before I leave for the day." She waved the papers she was holding in her hand dismissively. She rose from her chair and moved to stand in front of Ron. "Daddy needs the equipment before he can deal with the Baltic Ambassador." She was discussing work, and had Ron been speaking to anyone else in the Ministry, that was exactly how he would have interpreted her meaning. But this _wasn't _anyone else; it was Pansy Parkinson. She'd been after him for years. The word 'equipment' falling from her full red lips made his pulse start racing, but he hid it well.

He took the papers from her and forced his eyes to focus on the text. He frowned as he scanned the pages rapidly, and then looked up. "Why in the bloody hell are you bringing these to me, Parkinson? They need to go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This is the Magical Law Enforcement Department, remember? Or can't you read the sign outside on the door?" He tossed the papers back to her, taking in her highly amused expression.

"Oh, silly me," she said, gathering the papers and shrugging carelessly. "I must have gotten lost on the way to drop the papers off."

"You went out of your way to come and see me," he observed, leaning back in his chair. "You needed to go to the fifth floor, and you bloody well know it. So now that you're here, in the interest of saving time, why don't you just tell me what it is that you want?" He glanced at his watch – he didn't have time for silly games. He was just about to tell her so when it dawned on him.

"How did you find out?" he asked slowly. Pansy was notorious for playing dumb, though very few ever realized it was a ruse. Ron wouldn't have known either, but they'd spent so much time together at Hogwarts, there was very little about her that he _didn't_ know - though, that, too, was something of a secret between them. She arched her eyebrow at him, but he remained stoic. After a silent battle of wills, she rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. Her face fell slightly as she spoke. Ron knew from her expression that she was as scared about this as he was. Then she said something that took his breath away.

"I want in."

He didn't hesitate before answering. "No."

She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You can't tell me no."

"I believe I just did."

"And you know that I won't take no for an answer." He felt a twinge inside of his chest; she was right, at that. She never had taken no for an answer, and everyone knew that Pansy got what Pansy wanted, devil be damned.

"No time like the present to learn how to accept defeat," he said, his face set in hard lines. He didn't so much as flinch when she placed her palms flat on the desktop and leaned towards him.

"I was just about to tell you the same thing."

"I'm not budging on this, Pansy," he said calmly. "You're not involved with this project - you're not even supposed to know that it exists."

"Then it's too bad for you that I _do_ know," she snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I want to be a part of it."

"Even if I said yes – which I'm _not_ going to do – there's really no place for you. There's nothing for you to do. Dumbledore's already hand-picked the people he wants involved with this thing." Ron massaged his temples as he spoke.

"Do these hand-picked individuals _know_ that they've been chosen?" Ron's expression of utter defeat told her all she needed to know. "Then you're going to need someone to help you deliver the bad news, aren't you?"

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Make me your assistant." Ron snorted.

"My _assistant?_ When have you ever assisted anyone with anything in your life?"

"You're going to need help," she said. "And I'm it."

He stared thoughtfully at her for a long moment. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He didn't particularly relish the thought of having to seek the people on the list out and break the news to them. "Fine."

"I knew you'd say yes," she gloated, her eyes burning into his.

"This is strictly a professional arrangement, Parkinson," he said softly, averting his eyes. "We discuss work. From here on out, we eat, sleep, and breathe this project. I don't have time for anything else."

"Whatever you say, boss." Pansy eyed him appraisingly. So he'd decided that he was going to distance himself from her, had he? Well, things had a way of working themselves out over time, and she knew that this project was going to be consuming. She had all the time in the world to break him down.

Hermione tried to steady her hand and keep it from shaking. This was a very delicate operation, and there was no margin for error. If she failed, she could very well succeed in killing not only herself, but everyone within a four kilometer radius. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her fingers itched to wipe it away. She didn't waver from the task at hand, however, and forced herself to concentrate on the vials in front of her.

_Add the bezoar first, then just a drop of the dragon's blood. Did I remember to dilute it? Oh, if I didn't – I did. I remember now, I definitely did. Didn't I?_

Just as she was about to add the dragon's blood, the door to her laboratory burst open, causing her to scream. Thankfully she gathered her wits quickly enough that she righted the precious vial in her hand before the contents could spill. She turned and frowned severely at her boyfriend.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she shrieked, placing the delicate glass container back in its protective casing, and then putting it back on the shelf. "Have you ever heard of _knocking?_"

"Sorry," he said, his ears turning scarlet. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, but we've got to talk." Hermione eyed his face, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"What's happened? Is Harry all right? Your family? Has something-"

"Nothing like that," he reassured her, shaking his head quickly. She frowned.

"What is it, then? You look like death warmed over."

"Not me. Not yet, anyway." His voice broke, but Hermione continued to stare uncomprehendingly. He said the next words, which were surely damning, and watched her face change instantaneously from concern to sheer dread. "Dumbledore signed off today."

The towel she'd been using to wipe her hands clean slipped from her trembling hand, forgotten, as she fell into the chair behind her.

"How many do we get?"

"Five."

"Who?"

Ron pulled the parchment from the folder and handed it to her. Hermione scanned the page quickly, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she read the last name on the list. She began to shake her head in disbelief. Dumbledore wouldn't do that to them - not when they'd worked so hard to bring this mission about. Having this person on their team would surely lessen their chances for success.

"Impossible," she said in her typical matter-of-fact way. "He'll never do it." Ron shook his head.

"That's what I said, but I've just come from Dumbledore's office, and he assures me that he will join us, if we approach him in a –" he paused, grimacing. "_Delicate _manner."

"Well, _I'm_ not recruiting him," she snapped. "I can go visit these three." She pointed down at the top three names on the list. Ron looked at the last two names.

"I'll go see this one."

"Harry might do it," she said tentatively, still staring at the last - slightly ominous - name on their list.

"Bollocks. No, we don't have to approach him. I know who can do it, and I have confidence that he'll agree to join us."

"Who?" Ron's cheeks turned a bit pink as he tried to think of a delicate way of breaking the news of Pansy's involvement to Hermione. He knew that she still disliked the woman based on the way she'd pursued Ron while they'd been at Hogwarts. What Hermione didn't know, and what Ron would never tell her, was that Pansy had actually succeeded to some degree. All Hermione knew was that Pansy had wanted Ron.

"Another Ministry employee," he said, skirting the issue. Hermione's eyebrows shot up, rising so high that they almost disappeared into her hairline.

"Who?" she repeated. Ron rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something under his breath, hoping that Hermione wouldn't hear him. When her eyes nearly popped out of her head, he knew that she'd heard him anyway. _"What? _You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

"She sort of forced my hand, so to speak," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"How did she find out?" Hermione demanded.

"Her father told her."

"What?" The more Ron told her, the more indignant she became. "How does _he_ know? He's nothing to do with the ruddy committee that Dumbledore put together! You know what this means as well as I do, Ron."

"We have a leak. I know," he said miserably. "But until we can figure out who it is, there's nothing we can do except move forward with the orders."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "So all she's going to do is notify him, and then she's done?"

"Not exactly," Ron sighed. "She's going to be my … assistant, I suppose."

"No," Hermione said defiantly, shaking her head. She removed her lab robe and draped it over the hook on the wall. "No, I can't believe it. She's bullied you into doing this, and you're just going to _let_ her, even though you're heading the project, and you have the power to stop her?"

"Hermione-" he started. His voice died when he thought about it. How could he explain to Hermione that once Pansy made up her mind what she wanted, there was nothing and no one that could prevent her from getting it? Pansy would have made a damned nuisance out of herself if he'd turned her down and stuck to his decision. Better to just let her think he'd been bullied, even though it wounded his pride to know that she thought he'd buckle so easily.

"I'm going home, Ronald. If you decide that you want to come with me and discuss this, then fine. If you'd rather go back to your own office and consort with that – with that – _trollop_, then that's fine, too!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a syllable, she was gone.

When he returned to his office, his shoulders were slumped in defeat. He was ready to go home, but at the same time, he knew that Hermione would be in a right state. They'd had fights like this before; fights that would start at work, and then escalate when they both returned to their flat. Ron was beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea for them both to be working for the Ministry.

He opened the door to his office to find Pansy lounging in his chair, her high-heeled feet propped up on his desk, crossed at the ankles. He sighed.

"What's the matter, pet?" she asked calmly, examining the flawless red polish on her nails. "Did the little woman not like the news you delivered?"

"For once, Parkinson, you're spot on," he grumbled, tugging at his wrinkled tie. "Now would you mind moving your lazy, overprivileged arse out of my chair?"

"Well," she said, looking up at him and narrowing her eyes. "Someone certainly woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Actually, I was perfectly fine until _you_ showed up," he snapped. He moved forward and touched his hand to her ankle, ignoring the tingling sensation that the contact elicited (it was just an _ankle_, for Merlin's sake), and roughly pushed her feet off of his desk. Her lips curved up into a knowing smirk.

"Yes, you were fine," she purred, slowly rising from his chair. "Because _she_ makes you so happy, right?"

She was standing so close to him that their noses were almost touching, and it was unnerving him. "I'm very happy with Hermione, not that it's any of _your_ business."

"Oh, sugar," she said, stepping out of his way. "I _make_ it my business to know."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed. This was going to be one hell of a long night.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Have you gone _completely_ nutters?" Ginny shrieked, gaping at her brother. Ron's gaze was unwavering as he waited for her answer. She took several deep breaths as she tried to calm herself down. It didn't help that Pansy Parkinson was standing beside Ron's chair, her arm draped possessively across the back of his seat, with her eyes focused on Ginny as well. She definitely felt as though she was being interrogated.

"No one is forcing you to do anything," he said quietly, his expression closed off. Ginny's heart twisted as she watched her brother. He looked older than his years; older than any twenty six year old _ought_ to look. "Dumbledore chose you. I don't know why, but he must have had his reasons." Lines appeared on Ginny's forehead, and her eyes narrowed as though this statement went deeper than Ron realized. Almost as soon as the look appeared, it was gone, and Ron chose to ignore it.

"How many others?"

"Besides you? Four."

Ginny took a moment to absorb this information. "Harry's one of them, isn't he?"

"We're not authorized to reveal the identity of the other possible participants. If you agree to undertake what we're asking of you, then you will meet the others when you start your training."

"This is too much," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Too much, too fast. How much time do I have to think about it?" Ron glanced down at his watch.

"About five minutes."

"You've got to be kidding me," she said disbelievingly. "I have five minutes to make a decision that could affect the rest of my life – or even _end_ my life?"

"No, now you have _less_ than five minutes, kitten," Pansy said, arching an eyebrow.

"Why are _you_ here, anyway? What purpose do you serve?" Ginny folded her arms over her chest.

"Why, moral support, of course," Pansy said, a healthy smirk plastered across her face. Ginny's frown deepened.

"Have you made a decision yet?" Ron asked, watching the different emotions flashing rapidly across his sister's face.

"Do Mum and Dad know?"

"Of course not, Gin," he said, frustrated. "You _know_ they don't, or Mum would've had kittens by now! Neither one of us would be here – she'd have us locked up in the house and thrown away the key! Besides, no one else knows, apart from a select few that Dumbledore trusts – and us."

Ginny gave him a weak smile. "How long is the training?"

"I'm not sure yet. It all depends on the team's progress and how quickly you all pick up the training. It could be anywhere from six months to a year - possibly longer."

"A _year?"_ Ginny's eyes widened. "Longer? I don't know, Ron, I-"

"You have exactly one minute left," Pansy interjected, her eyes glittering.

"What would I tell Holyhead?" Ginny asked desperately. "I can't just up and leave them without a Keeper, Ron!"

"Is no your answer, then?"

"Oh, sod it all!" she swore, throwing her hands up in the air. "Fine, I'll do it!" Ron smiled grimly to himself. One down, four to go.

He had no sooner stepped foot inside the door of his flat when Hermione entered the room, her eyes blazing and her cheeks flushed scarlet. He sighed. He'd been right; since she'd left him earlier that evening, she'd worked herself into a right state. Normally on nights like these, he would acquiesce to her and apologize, even if he felt he hadn't done anything wrong.

Tonight, however, he was in no mood to back down.

"Where have you been, Ron?"

"At the office. Where else would I have been, Hermione?" he asked, removing his tie and slinging it over the back of the sofa. Hermione pursed her lips; she _hated_ anything being out of place, and he knew it.

"You've been at the Ministry all night, have you?"

"Actually, yes, I have," he said calmly, flopping down exhaustedly on the sofa. "If you don't believe me, you can ask Ginny. She was there with me."

"And I'd be willing to bet that that tart Pansy Parkinson wasn't far behind, either." She folded her arms over her chest.

Ron pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "I already told you, Hermione. She's my assistant, nothing more."

"I don't trust her, Ron. That woman has claws and fangs! She's like a –" Hermione paused as she searched for the right words. "Like a wild animal, waiting to devour her prey!" Ron snorted and shook his head.

"You've got an incredibly active imagination, Hermione. What in Merlin's name do you think Parkinson would want with _me?_" Hermione sank down onto the sofa next to Ron and took his hand in hers.

"I'm serious, Ron. If she senses any sort of weakness, you know she'll be all over you." Ron jerked his hand away and glared at her.

"How many times do I have to tell you that she's just my assistant before you'll actually believe me? Give me the benefit of the doubt for once, Hermione. When have I ever lied to you?"

"You haven't," she said softly, her shoulders drooping a bit. Confusion washed over Ron. It wasn't like Hermione to speak so softly when she was angry, and it wasn't like her to admit that he'd done nothing to deserve one of her tirades.

"If you know that there's nothing going on between me and Pansy, why are you still so upset? What else is bothering you?" Hermione dropped her face into her hands, and Ron watched helplessly as her body began to shake with her sobs.

"I wasn't on the list," she cried. He blinked in surprise.

"You're upset because your name wasn't on the list?"

She looked up at him through wet lashes. "I thought that when we spoke to Professor Dumbledore about this the first time that I'd be involved! Now even Pansy Parkinson is involved, and I'm not doing anything!"

"Hermione, there's something I haven't told you," Ron said, clearing his throat. "You're not on that list because I requested you not to be."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "B-but – I don't understand! Why would you do such a thing?"

"I need you to do something else," he said quietly. "Something infinitely more important than being a member of the team."

"So help me, Ron, if you say stay home and guard it –"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't want to ask you to do this, but the truth is that you're the only one I trust to do it, and do it right."

"What is it?" she asked hesitantly.

"I need you to train the recruits for me." Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him.

"Train them? You mean just with spells, right?"

"No." He shook his head slowly, and she paled. "Everything you thought of when we were planning this- that would be useful to them, the Muggle training as well."

"Ron, I can't _do_ any of the other things that they need to learn! Spells and potions are easy, but the physical training – I just can't do it! Besides, most of the people on the list are _way_ more athletic than me!"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing." He shook his head, and wrapped his arms around her, gathering her close. "Remember all of the planning you did last summer? I wasn't big on the idea at first, but you convinced me. The only way we can really be successful is if we incorporate everything you deemed necessary into the training. Who else did you think would be training them?"

He watched as her face changed and the realization flashed in her eyes. He could almost hear her thoughts. '_Well of course. He's right. No one but me would be able to teach them everything.' _He tried not to chuckle at the obvious defeat her next question implied.

"Are you sure you want me to do this? It would mean my seclusion from you for an undetermined amount of time."

"I don't trust anyone else to do it right," he reaffirmed. "I _need_ you to do this, Hermione. Please. For me."

"All right," she whispered, burying her face in the front of his shirt. "I'll do it."

"Were you followed?" The hooded man's head turned left, then right, looking for any signs of movement in the trees.

"No," a gruff voice replied. The figure pulled its hat low to mask its face. "I wasn't followed – I made sure of it."

"You'd better have," the hooded man said coldly. "What news do you have for me?"

"Dumbledore's signed off on his little project."

"Has he? It's taken long enough for him to do it. Who are the recruits?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" the hooded man asked angrily. "It's your _job_ to know! How are we to know who to eliminate if we don't have names?"

"I feel sure that one of them is Harry Potter." The hooded figure snorted derisively.

"Do you take me for a fool? Don't you think that I already _know_ Potter is going to be among the recruits? Idiot!"

"Why don't you just seek him out now and kill him?"

"The plans that have been made don't involve killing him just yet. His death is imminent, but it won't happen before it's time. Where are they being sent?"

"I don't know that, either."

"What are you good for? A spy who doesn't spy. Brilliant!" The hooded man reached out and closed a hand around the other figure's throat. "The next time you send for me, you'd better be sure that you have all the information that I want. If we meet again and you do not tell me what I want to know, there will be consequences." He dropped the figure and disapparated.

Hermione climbed the steps to Harry's flat with no small amount of trepidation. _Why did I volunteer to tell Harry? I can't remember now._ She paused just outside his front door, and smoothed out the front of her sensible skirt. She raised her hand to knock on his door, but just before her hand made contact, the door flew open.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, wrapping her in a tight hug. "How've you been?" He pulled away and gestured her inside, and then closed the door behind them.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, puzzled.

"I just knew," he said, shrugging. She blinked. _He's got wards around the flat, you ninny,_ she chided herself silently. "Can I get you something? Tea, chocolate, or juice?" He was already heading towards the kitchen.

"No, thank you, Harry," she said softly. "I'm not actually here for a friendly visit." Harry froze mid-step, then slowly turned to face her again.

"Then what _are_ you here for?"

"You might want to sit down," she said, pointing towards the sofa. When Harry didn't budge, she moved to it and sat down. "_I_ might want to sit down."

"What's going on?"

"About eight months ago, Ron and I approached Professor Dumbledore with an idea. It was risky, but I knew that certain-er-_controversial_- measures had to be taken if we ever want this war to end. It would also put you into a position where you could really prepare yourself, Harry, for- well, you know." Harry had told Ron and Hermione about the prophesy years ago, but it was still a topic that they didn't discuss unless it was absolutely necessary. Hermione cleared her throat before she continued. "I had every confidence that the plan would work, should Dumbledore decide to do it."

Harry gave her a blank look, forcing her to continue.

"Well, it's taken some time- Dumbledore wasn't too keen on the idea at first-" she cleared her throat again nervously. "But yesterday afternoon, he finally signed off on the papers to authorize the project."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked cautiously.

"Part of the deal was that Dumbledore alone would decide who would participate in the project. He was adamant that Ron would be in charge, obviously, and he made a list of the people he'd like to recruit to work with Ron on the project. Your name was at the top of the list, Harry."

"What sort of project is it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Basically, it's a –" she fumbled for an easy way to tell him. "Essentially, you'd be-"

"Get on with it, Hermione."

"You'd be trained as an assassin." The words hung heavy and thick in the air between them, and she shifted nervously in her seat. Harry's face was set in hard lines, and she was terrified that he might erupt into one of the rampages that he was currently so famous for. Therefore she was startled when he calmly took a seat beside her on the sofa.

"You mean like an Auror?"

"Not exactly," she said, shaking her head. "You'd be trained in combat, both physical and with spells. You'd be in a very secluded training area with four other people and your trainer, and you'd be there anywhere from six months to a year, and maybe longer than that."

"Four others? Who?"

"I can't tell you that, Harry. I haven't been authorized to give any more information than what's necessary. You'll be seeing the other four people if you decide to go."

"What's the objective?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously you had a goal in mind when you put this band of assassins together. What is it?"

She shook her head 'no' in response to that question as well. She couldn't tell anyone that yet. She doubted if even Ron understood the real complexity of it all.

"So basically you want me to put my life in your hands, without even the teensiest hint as to what I'll be doing?" He grinned.

"Yeah…." Her lips curved up into a weak smile.

"Sounds like old times."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Hermione strode towards 23 B Winpole Street with more confidence than she expected, and she suspected that Harry's positive reaction had everything to do with it. She'd told him where to be and what time to be there in order to begin his training, and he'd assured her that he wouldn't be late.

She swallowed back a smile when she realized that she was almost _skipping_ to the next recruit's home. It wouldn't do to seem so excited about the project when she wasn't certain that the rest of the recruits would join. So far they were two for two – Harry and Ginny had both agreed. While Hermione knew that Harry was going to play a pivotal part in the drama that was about to unfold, she also knew that he needed the other four players in order to get the thing done right.

She stopped in front of the flat on Winpole and took a deep breath to calm her suddenly raw nerves. This was a delicate situation, and she had to approach it with care – she couldn't afford to alienate anyone. She lifted her hand and rapped lightly on the door.

"Hang on a tic!" a voice called from behind the door. Hermione shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other as she waited. Suddenly the door swung open, and a tall girl wrapped her arms around Hermione. "Oh, Hermione, it's good to see you! Come in and have a cup of tea."

Hermione didn't have time to protest as the woman pulled her inside and guided her towards the kitchen. As Hermione lowered herself into a wooden chair, she gave her old friend a weak smile.

"How have you been?" The woman shrugged.

"As good as I could be, I suppose," she said, rummaging through the cabinets for a mug. "Things have been very different in the last month or so."

"I can imagine," Hermione said sympathetically. "No one thought that anything so horrible would happen."

"I know." She pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and placed them on the table, then waved her wand over them. Instantly steaming liquid filled the mugs, and Hermione reached across the table for the small sugar bowl. "So what brings you by today? Are you out with Ron?"

Hermione's hand wavered slightly as she stirred the sugar into her tea. "Not exactly. I've come to ask you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure how to say this, but-"

"Just say it."

"Right," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "A few months ago, Ron and I went to Dumbledore with a plan to bring down Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

"I'm in." Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"B-but you don't even know-"

"I don't care. I'm in."

"You'd basically be secluded from every other living person on the face of the planet, save for your teammates and your trainer, and-"

"Let me repeat myself: I'm in. No questions asked. Just tell me where to go and how to get there, and I'll be there. I want to get those bastards just as bad as anyone else. They killed my husband, remember?"

"I know," Hermione whispered. "Well then," she said, clearing her throat and extending her hand. "Welcome to the team, Angelina."

* * *

The final straw had been the brutal slaying of the Weasley twins. Dumbledore's face had turned to stone when he'd found out about their murders, and he'd countersigned the affidavit authorizing the project within an hour of learning the horrible news. Hermione knew that, as did Ron, but they were both too determined to bring their plan into action to dwell on that point. There had been losses – several, in fact - but everyone involved with the Order knew the consequences of this project before going in. The grieving was constant, the waiting torturous, and the outcome uncertain. This mission seemed like the only thing that they hadn't yet tried.

And there was always Harry's part to consider. Ron and Hermione had dwelt on the prophesy - when they were alone, of course - for years. Ever since they were children, they had accepted the part they would play in Harry's journey. They were his scaffolding; his support. They were his best friends, and though they knew he had to do it alone when the time came, that didn't mean that they couldn't help him prepare. It seemed like the only viable option.

Hermione had left Angelina's after giving her instructions, and to her great surprise, was more confident than she had been before she arrived. Three down, one more. Well, one more for _her_, anyway. Ron was supposedly dealing with the last one. She shivered automatically thinking about the last name on the list, and wondered briefly how they were going to persuade him. She'd heard rumors about him, but Hermione considered herself far too sensible to listen to gossip. _There were more important matters at hand,_ she reminded herself, as she approached the last recruit's home.

She frowned inwardly upon reaching once stately home. Now it held no trace of the beauty she'd once seen; it was old and decaying. Hermione knew his grandmother would be throwing a right tantrum if she could see how her only grandson had let the place become derelict. Taking in the cracked path and dirty windows, the peeling paint and trash scattered on the ground, she wondered how anyone could live in such conditions. As she grasped the dirty brass knocker, she realized that Neville probably didn't give a damn about the condition of his home. He was alive, and that was all any of them could ask for at this juncture. Now she was going to ask him to put himself in jeopardy again.

The door swung open and there stood Neville Longbottom, looking thin and pale, and much older than his twenty-five years. He smiled weakly when he saw Hermione standing on the veranda, but the sparkle that had once shown in his eyes when Hermione paid him any attention was gone. They were dull, lifeless, and encased in purple shadows. He looked like a corpse.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione breathed upon seeing him. She felt her arms stretch out and her feet shuffle forward to embrace him. He didn't resist, and she wrapped her arms around him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"I'm okay, Hermione." He seemed suddenly embarrassed at her display, and moved away from her, retreating into the house.

Once inside, Hermione could see that the interior of the home was in the same condition as the exterior. Everything looked dingy and old. There was an odd smell like cabbage - a scent no doubt left behind by his formidable grandmother. Neville gestured to an arm chair that was ripped in one corner, and Hermione sat down gingerly, afraid it might break under her weight. Neville fell into a similar looking chair opposite her and closed his eyes.

"I really am okay, you know." His voice was deep; much deeper than she remembered it being.

"I know that. You still come to Order meetings. If you stopped doing that, then I might worry, but I know you're feeling the same way the rest of us are." She fingered some of the brown thread hanging loosely from the chair, and tried avoid his eyes. Of course she was worried about him. His grandmother had been the only family member he had left. His parents were murdered in St. Mungo's after graduation by some Death Eaters who'd managed to disapparate right before the Ministry had arrived. It had been heartbreaking for Hermione to watch Neville revert back into the scared little boy he had been when he entered Hogwarts. He had come so far only to have it ripped away from him again.

"Neville-" she cleared her throat, and reminded herself that this was the last time she'd have to do this. "I didn't come just to check on you." He opened his eyes and looked at her questioningly.

"I need to ask you something." This was harder than it had been with the others, and she didn't know why, but she felt a lump form in the back of her throat. "Ron and I are putting together a team of-"

"Assassins," he finished for her. For the first time there seemed to be life in his eyes.

"Oh, I'd forgotten you were a Legilimens." The corners of his mouth turned upward. He liked it when people underestimated him; it made things easier. "Don't _do_ that!" she chided him. It was bad enough that she had to guard her thoughts around Harry, without having to do it around Neville, too. She could tell from the look on his ragged face that he understood what she was talking about. He nodded and leaned back into the chair again, closing his eyes before speaking.

"All right, Hermione. I'll do it."

* * *

Hermione burst through the door of Ron's office, ready to relate all the details of her morning meetings with the recruits. When her eyes fell on long, blonde hair and the smallest skirt she'd ever seen, however, the words died on her lips. Pansy turned and arched an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Like what you see?" she asked, smirking. Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, and she averted her eyes.

"Where's Ron?"

"He went to get something to eat. I imagine he'll be back any-" her words were cut short as Ron entered the room. He dropped a white paper sack on his desk and turned to his girlfriend.

"You're back earlier than I expected you," he began, studying her face carefully. "Does that mean that things didn't go well?" Hermione glanced at Pansy, who rolled her eyes.

"You might as well go ahead and say what you have to say in front of me, Granger," she said impatiently. "Ronniekins here will tell me when you're gone, anyway."

Ron could see the movement of Hermione's jaw as she ground her teeth together. It was a habit that even her dentist parents had never been able to curb, and she only did it when she was extremely irritated.

Ron noted that she was doing it more and more as of late.

She ignored Pansy and turned her attention to Ron. "I visited all three recruits today."

"And?"

"Harry seemed standoffish at first, but he agreed to do it," she said. Ron was visibly relieved – if Harry had said no, they would have had to scrap the entire project and start over again.

"Ever the hero," Pansy remarked. Hermione's jaw began moving again, and Ron turned to the blonde.

"Can you refrain from making comments for five minutes?" he snapped. Pansy shrugged nonchalantly, and he turned back to Hermione. "Thank Merlin Harry agreed," Ron breathed. "That means that so far, we have two out of five. What about Neville?"

"Longbottom?" Pansy shrieked, stricken. Ron and Hermione both turned to look at her. "You mean to tell me that I was passed up for this because you wanted _Longbottom?_"

_"We_ didn't choose the recruits, you addle brained ninny!" Hermione said crossly, putting her hands on her hips. "Professor Dumbledore did, and obviously he saw more value in Neville than he did in you – and I'd have to say that I agree with him!"

"You'd better watch yourself, you bushy-haired little-" Ron jumped up and stood between them, effectively halting Pansy's advancement towards his girlfriend. Hermione was so angry that her hair fairly crackled with electricity.

"All right, enough of this!" he said angrily. "Pansy, keep your bloody gob shut until Hermione leaves." Just as Hermione shot a triumphant look over Ron's shoulder at the girl, he turned back to her. "And Hermione, finish what you have to say quickly, because I have to contact the last recruit by the end of the day."

"Angelina's in, too."

"Four down, one to go. All right, thank you, Hermione." He moved behind his desk and began shuffling through the parchments that covered its surface, his lunch all but forgotten. Hermione stared at him.

"That's it? Thank you, and I'm dismissed?"

"I don't have time for this, Hermione, and you know it," he said calmly, peering at her over something that he was reading. "I have to report back to Dumbledore tomorrow morning and let him know the status on the recruits."

"What about her? Aren't you going to make _her_ leave too?" Hermione asked, pointing at Pansy.

"She's my assistant," Ron said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tightly. "I can't very well ask her to leave – besides, she has the pleasure of contacting our last recruit." Pansy shot an interested look at Ron.

"Is that so? Well, I'm at your disposal, boss." Hermione snorted and left the room in a flurry, visibly angry, and astoundingly relieved at the same time, since she had been afraid that Ron would have to seek out that nasty bugger himself. Pansy, evil thing that she was, was well suited for such a task. Hermione knew the girl was just waiting to dig her claws into Ron, but wondered if perhaps she'd get distracted by her old flame. When she was gone, Ron turned to the blonde and tried to hide his smile.

"Was that _really _necessary?" Pansy shrugged and gave him a toothy grin.

"I suppose not, but it was fun, wasn't it?" Despite himself, Ron laughed.

"Are you ready to prove how useful you can be, so I can send a favorable report to Dumbledore in the morning?" Ron asked, his smile fading. Pansy nodded. She was eager to do something – _anything_ – to prove to him that she wasn't just a spoiled little rich girl anymore.

"Sure am, boss." She sat up straight in her chair, and waited for her assignment with bated breath.

"I need you to go see an old friend."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4**

Pansy's heels clicked loudly against the pavement as she sauntered purposefully down Pembroke Road. She was loathe to be in Muggle London, and she was sure that it showed on her face, too. It wasn't because she didn't like Muggles or found them at all distasteful – it was because she could be in other places, doing other (more productive) things.

She'd found it a bit unnerving, to say the least, when Ron had taken her to the basement and had a Ministry employee perform a locator spell on her old friend. The employee had worn a shroud over his face and had spoken nary a word as he'd worked the spell, and frankly, it had given her the willies. The spell had worked, though, and Ron had sent her on her way to Shoreditch.

She smiled to herself as she thought of Ron. He thought that he was doing a good job keeping her at bay, when in all reality, she felt thoroughly ready to pounce. If she could just get that goody-two-shoes girlfriend of his out of the way, she knew that she'd be able to reign him in, just as she always had.

_Then again_, she mused silently, _there was always the possibility that being secluded with Potter for an undetermined amount of time would do the trick for her._ Pansy wasn't a fool when it came to identifying and understanding attraction and lust, and she'd seen more than enough of it evidenced in the Boy Wonder's eyes at Hogwarts whenever he'd looked at that bushy-haired bint.

She could only wonder, if the freak was supposed to bea supergenius, why she hadn't seen it for herself.

Or maybe she _had_ seen it and ignored it. Pansy's eyes darted back and forth between the rotting buildings as she turned this new idea over in her mind. Perhaps the girl had seen Potter's affection for her, and simply ignored it in favor of his best friend's affections. Despite her loathing of the other female, Pansy found that she was filled with grudging admiration. She wondered if Potter still pined for his friend – if he did, then Ron's road out of the relationship was paved with gold. She smirked to herself as she headed towards the last, most run-down building at the end of the street.

She wouldn't have admitted it to anyone if they'd cared enough to ask, but she was more than a little bit apprehensive about seeking out her old friend. She hadn't been there when it had happened, but she'd heard rumors about his reaction to his parents being murdered by the very person they'd served. Some people said that he'd snapped; gone insane. She couldn't even remember the last time anyone from their old circle had seen him.

She knew what a murderous personality he'd had _before_ his parents had died; thinking about what he'd be like with nothing left to lose made her shudder involuntarily. As she reached her hand out to open the door to the dive, she wondered if he'd even speak to her. After all, the last time they'd spoken amicably had been right before their breakup at the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts.

She went inside the dim establishment and squinted her eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the lighting. Her eyes darted left, then right. She stepped further into the room and craned her neck to peer into the corner booths. When her eyes fell on a head full of dirty white-blonde hair, she knew she'd found her quarry. She ignored the hungry stares that were fixed on her and made her way to the tiny booth in the back of the room. She slid into the seat opposite him and waited for him to notice that she was there.

It didn't take long.

"I don't need any fucking company tonight," he snarled. He was positioned so that his right cheek was resting against the table, and his eyes were closed. She wrinkled her nose distastefully at the odor that was emanating from him, and rolled her eyes at the table full of empty snifters – and the full one that he held clumsily in his hand. So this was what Draco Malfoy, richest and most powerful of all the Slytherins, had been reduced to – a common drunk.

"On the contrary, sweet," she said smoothly. "I think you're in dire need of a woman's touch."

Draco winced even as his head snapped up. "What in the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Manners, darling," she said, giving him a predatory smile. "You used to have them, remember?"

"I used to have a lot of things," he snapped, his eyes traveling slowly around the smoky room.

"I'm alone," she volunteered, examining her nails and pretending to look bored.

"Not very wise of you," he drawled, raising the snifter of alcohol to his lips. "But then again, you never _were_ very bright, were you?" She stiffened.

"I'll thank you to remember which of us still has her dignity in tact," she snapped. He snorted as he placed the glass back on the table.

"Dignity? I don't think you know the meaning of the word."

"I know that _I'm_ not the one who became a sodding drunk." He narrowed his eyes and glared at her.

"That'd be the _only_ thing you know, then, wouldn't it?"

"I've been sent to ask you if you want to join a team of sorts." Draco arched an eyebrow, and she was mildly startled to see the familiar smirk appear on his face.

"Messenger girl, eh? What's the matter, Parkinson? Couldn't find someone in a higher office to blow?" Pansy's face turned scarlet with rage, but before she could open her mouth to retort, he spoke again. "Who sent you?"

"Ron Weasley."

Draco nearly fell out of his chair, he was laughing so hard.

"What in the bloody hell is so damned funny?" she demanded.

"Don't tell me you're still on about the Weasel," Draco sniggered. "Didn't you get your fill of him in seventh year, or have you gone back for sloppy seconds?"

"He's heading a project at the Ministry, and they want you involved," she bit out. "Although looking at you, I can't imagine _why_."

Draco blatantly ignored her comment and leveled a malevolent grin at her. "Isn't Weasley still dating the Mudblood? Last I heard, they were about to get engaged."

His comment rubbed Pansy the wrong way, and she could feel her cheeks burning. "Are you going to give me an answer, or not?"

"Perhaps if you asked me a question that merited an answer, I'd give you one," he said coldly. "Like I told you when you sat down and your malodorous perfume made me want to vomit, I don't need any fucking company. Run back to your Weasel, and the both of you can sod off, for all I care."

"Don't act so superior, Draco," she chided coolly, her eyes flashing. "I should think you'd be grateful for a spot of help, considering your current condition."

"You know absolutely nothing about my current condition," he said acidly. "So go back to _him_, and just pray to whatever deities exist that someday he'll notice you panting after him."

Pansy's eyes filled with tears, but before she would give him the satisfaction of seeing them, she was out of the booth and heading towards the front door. Only one thing reverberated through her mind on the way back to the Ministry and that small office on the second floor.

_How am I going to tell Ron that I failed?_

* * *

When Pansy returned to Ron's office, she was surprised to find him soundly asleep. He was reclined in his chair, his head tilted back, and his lips slightly parted as he slept. She felt the smile creeping up on her, and in an effort to stifle it, cleared her throat loudly.

Ron didn't move.

"Ron!" she said. When she got no response, she moved forward and gently shook his shoulder. "Ron, wake up!"

When his arms circled her waist and drew her nearer, she had to bite her lip to prevent the gasp that wanted to slip out. "Go back to sleep, Hermione."

The tender feelings that had been burgeoning came to a screeching halt at being called by another name, and she pushed him roughly as she disengaged from him. "Wake up!" she shouted. Ron's eyes snapped open with a start.

"What in the-" his voice died when his eyes fell on her. He straightened up a bit in his chair and ran his long fingers through the shock of red hair that kept falling in his eyes. "Parkinson – I didn't hear you come in."

"That's not a surprise, considering that you were _sound asleep_," she quipped, lowering herself into the chair across from his desk, and crossing her legs.

"I haven't been sleeping well," he confided, his ears turning scarlet. "Wait – did you find him?"

"Oh, I found him, all right," she said, frowning. Ron eyed her carefully.

"And?"

"And he said no."

"He said _no?_"

"Actually, he didn't say no. He wouldn't even answer the damned question."

"You have to go back," Ron said decisively. "You have to talk to him, and make him see that-"

"He said _no_," she repeated slowly, as though she were speaking to a toddler. "He's not going to do it. Once Draco makes his mind up about something, it's final. Me going back would be like throwing myself against a brick wall – completely ineffectual."

"You could play the old love card," he supplied hopefully. She shook her head.

"He never loved me, so it wouldn't work."

"There's got to be _something_ you can do," he said desperately. "Something, anything!"

"What would you have me do?" she asked, interested. She leaned forward, giving him a more than ample look at the cleavage that her low-cut top exposed. His face turned red, but he didn't turn away from her, which she thought was heartening.

"Whatever it takes."

"Interesting," she replied, arching an eyebrow. "But nothing will work. He's said no, and that's the end of it."

"I can't tell Dumbledore that he refused," Ron moaned, rubbing his face tiredly. "I just can't."

Pansy shrugged. "He'll find a replacement, I'm sure."

"It's not as simple as all that," Ron snapped. "It took him long enough to approve the bloody project, and I'm not willing to risk its success just because some spoiled rich kid doesn't _feel_ like helping us!"

Pansy bristled, uncertain as to whether he was referring to Draco or herself.

"It's out of my hands. He's made up his feeble mind!"

"I refuse to believe this. It's unacceptable." She watched in disbelief as Ron gathered his heavy cloak and a stack of parchments from his desk, then headed towards the door. She stood quickly.

"Are you going to talk to him?"

"No," he said, looking at her over his shoulder. "I'm going home, to _bed_, so I can get some rest before I have to face Dumbledore with the bad news. Looks like your services are no longer needed, Parkinson, so I'd advise you to go home, too."

Pansy stared after him in utter disbelief as he stormed out of the office, leaving her alone with nothing but the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in her ears.

* * *

"He said no, and she couldn't change his mind?" Hermione asked, her voice rich with unspoken _"I told you so"_-s. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I don't know," Ron yelled. He didn't know why he'd expected her to comfort him and let him just vent his frustration; he should have _expected_ the lecture that he knew she was about to give him.

Instead of speaking again, however, she plucked her cloak from the hook it was hanging on, and slipped it over her shoulders. He stared at her.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing, Hermione?"

"I'm going to see him myself."

"What?" he bellowed. She fastened the cloak's buttons with calm fingers, though her stomach was churning. "You can't! If he wouldn't listen to an ex-girlfriend - a pureblood and an ex-housemate, at that – why would you think he'd listen to _you?_"

Hermione pushed her hair back and sighed. "Pansy Parkinson is one of the most incompetent people I've ever had the misfortune to meet. I'd be willing to bet my entire library that she just swaggered up to him and demanded that he join."

"So?"

"My point is that it takes a special approach to get through to those who don't want to look anywhere beyond themselves." Ron's mouth dropped open.

"You're giving me the willies, Hermione. What makes you so sure that he'll listen to you?"

"I'm _not_ sure," she said, giving him a tiny smile. "But the project is what's important right now, and I've got to do something to help. I can't stand idly by when there's even the most remote possibility that I might be able to help."

Ron marveled at her bravery as she disapparated from their flat.

* * *

Hermione's eyes darted up and down the busy road before she ducked into an alleyway behind Pembroke. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of urine and garbage overflowing from the bin, and tried to dodge bits of it as she walked toward the end of the dark alley. She kept glancing behind her, and when she was sure she wasn't being followed, she extracted her wand from her cloak and repeated the incantation to perform the same locator spell that the Unspeakable at the Ministry had used earlier for Ron. This was one of her secrets; one of the most wonderful bits of information she had obtained from her endless reading. She could find anyone. _Almost anyone_, she grudgingly reminded herself.

When the smoky image erupted from the end of her wand she squinted into the dust, trying to make out the name on the sign of the pub. She knew the general area he was in, thanks to the information the strumpet had provided Ron with, but she didn't know the exact location, and she wasn't taking any chances that she would walk into one of the scariest pubs in Muggle London for nothing. Besides, every minute she wasted looking for him was another minute she could have spent preparing the training exercises for the recruits. Satisfied that she knew exactly which pub he was in, she placed her wand back in her cloak and ducked through the back door of a restaurant to get back onto the street.

_Good gods, _she thought, her eyes falling on the mop of dirty platinum hair in the booth all the way in the back of the pub. T_he rumors must be true, then. Look at him! _Pansy hadn't been lying about his condition, that was certain. She was frozen to the spot as she stared at him. Even though her brain willed her to move, her feet wouldn't cooperate. She stood in the entrance too long, however, and the patrons began twisting on their stools to get a look at the second young girl to come in that evening - surely a first in the establishment's history.

"Hey honey!" A toothless old man sidled up to her and placed a grimy hand on her lower back. "Wha's a pretty little thing like you doin' in her'?" His breath smelled toxic and Hermione tried to move away from his grip, but he held on to her like she was his next bottle of ripple. Her heart began to pound.

"Let go, or I'll make you sorry," she said through gritted teeth, carefully slipping her arm inside of her cloak. The man began to laugh raucously and pulled her closer. Gripping her wand, she muttered the curse under her breath, and used the edge of a greasy table to maintain her balance as the man, silenced and numb, fell backward onto the dirty floor.

"Wha' happened to 'im?" The rest of the drunks at the bar stood up to help their friend, and Hermione wasted no time moving away from them and toward the back booth.

"Malfoy," she whispered, glancing around furtively. He didn't lift his head from the table. "Malfoy!"

When she got no response, she sighed. She maneuvered the wand beneath her cloak so that it was pointed at him beneath the table, and muttered the strongest sobering charm she knew. Almost immediately he sat up and frowned. When his eyes focused on her, however, all she could see was his utter surprise.

"Mudblood," he spat disparagingly. He gave a bitter laugh that made Hermione wince. "So Parkinson couldn't get the job done, and she's sent _you_ to do it? Brilliant, because I'd be so much more willing to be the Ministry's puppet if a _half-breed_ asked me, right?" Hermione smiled.

"Better to collect a stipend from the puppet master once a month and waste it on drink rather than _earning_ it, then?" Draco's jaw dropped slightly, but he recovered quickly.

"How did you know about that?" he snarled, reaching for a snifter. After realizing that it was empty, he hurled it onto the floor. "Oy! Barkeep!" He waved one of the remaining empty glasses in the general direction of the bar, and Hermione heard a muffled voice respond. "Been digging around in the Ministry's financial statements, have you?"

"Better me- someone of little consequence, than say- one of your old friends, right?"

"You performed a bloody Sobering Charm on me for _blackmail?_ Do you know how much of my _stipend_ it took to get me that drunk?" He shot a glare at her as the bartender placed a filthy glass on the table between them.

"Can I get somfin' for ye' miss?" The old man smiled, and Hermione didn't understand why so many teeth had just up and run out of the place. Draco snorted.

"Are you kidding? Look at her. She doesn't drink."

"I'll take a beer," she said, looking Draco square in the eye. The bartender nodded and ambled away. "I didn't come to blackmail you, and I'm not going to sit here and argue with you," she said calmly. "I came to tell you what Pansy didn't."

"How do you know what she did and didn't tell me?" he asked suspiciously. He glanced around, but Hermione said nothing.

"You've been isolated for quite a long time, Malfoy. Things have changed." The bartender placed a frosted mug on the table, and Hermione took a long drink, savoring the first look of real interest that appeared on his face. "Pansy doesn't rank anywhere near the level that I do at the Ministry- we're not sparring classmates anymore. Of course she wouldn't be privy to certain information that we have. We simply reasoned that you might be more inclined to listen to an old friend."

"An old friend?" he asked scathingly, giving a small snort of laughter. "I'm surprised that you'd even be involved with the bint, after what passed between she and your affianced."

"He's not my affianced – yet," Hermione added as an afterthought. She frowned as she took in what he'd said. "And nothing passed between them."

"Believe whatever helps you sleep at night," he said carelessly, shrugging. Her frown deepened.

"Look," she sighed, trying to focus on the task at hand. "The point is that it was a poor decision on our part to send a subordinate on such an important task."

"Important to _you_, maybe," he snapped. Hermione could tell that he didn't like thinking that his old housemates weren't above suspicion now. He seemed to be recovering some of his infamous arrogance. "Completely irrelevant to me."

_Good, _she thought, _get angry_. He was more likely to involve himself if he got angry about it.

"If you consider avenging your parent's murders to be irrelevant, then I have to say that you have even less decency than I remembered." She shouldn't have said that, she knew, but she was walking a thin line and grasping at straws. She took another long drink and watched his slate eyes flash in the dim light that was swinging slowly above the table. He looked up and a depraved smile crept onto his sallow face. She felt her stomach turn over when he waved his hand over the snifter and it disappeared. "How did you do-"

"In your pathetic attempt to draw me in, Granger, you've made the critical error of failing to remember the true nature of people."

"What are you on about?" she breathed, still mesmerized by his wandless magic.

"I wouldn't waste one second of time with you and your band of freaks and Mudbloods on such a futile enterprise as taking down the Dark Lord and his servants. I see no profit in it for me," he said. Hermione gave him a calculating smile. She'd been prepared for this.

"What if I said that if you joined us I could get you the Manor back, and the money, and restore the family honor and the rest of the nonsense that you fanatical purebloods care about?" It was her ace, and her last resort. If teasing him with his old wealth and stature didn't work, she felt sure that nothing would.

"You couldn't-"

"Of course I could," she said, cutting him off. Her smile was still in place as she said, "It is a _beautiful_ home, Malfoy. Pity it's just sitting there, collecting doxies and dust, and Merlin knows what else."

"You have never stepped one of your filthy Mudblood toes inside my ancestral family home!" he roared. The bar suddenly went silent at the unexpected outburst from the normally silent blonde. In the distance Hermione heard one of the old men ask his friend what in the devil a Mudblood was.

"Yes, I have." From the sober look on her face, he knew she was telling the truth.

"When-"

"That, Malfoy, is what I would consider a completely irrelevant question after what I've jut offered you - especially in your current predicament." He looked completely bewildered as she pulled a small, rolled-up parchment from her cloak and dropped it o the table between them. "Only when you are truly committed to joining us will this parchment open and give you your instructions." She got up from the table quickly, and was turned half-way around to leave when he spoke.

"Since when are you such a bitch? I thought you were all innocence and sweetness."

"And that-" she said, leaning toward him and narrowing her gaze to make sure his eyes were locked on hers. "Has always been your biggest mistake." Before he could even open his mouth to respond, she was gone.

* * *

The second she appeared in their living room and saw Ron sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands, she spoke. "He'll do it."

"What? _How?"_ He stood and closed the distance between them. When he had his arms around her he murmured, "I was worried."

"You needn't have been." She smiled weakly and withdrew from his embrace. "I can handle the Muggles, and certainly Malfoy." She plopped down onto the couch and started untying the laces on her boots. Ron joined her and immediately put his head back in his hands.

"So he agreed?"

"No, but he will," she said confidently. Her eyelids began to droop as she put her head back on the edge of the cushion.

"How do you know? I have to go to Dumbledore in the morning, if I can't confirm that they've all agreed-"

"He will," she repeated.

"How do you know? What exactly did he say? What did _you_ say?" He had pulled his head up and was now messaging his temples. He looked even more tired than she did.

"Ron, I think what we both need is a good long nap." She started to get up.

"Later. What was said? Why are you so sure he'll agree?" She sighed.

"All right," she said, and sat back down. "We're going to need to ask your father for a favor."

Ron gave her a wary look. "And what might that be?"

"I promised Malfoy that if he helped us, we would clear his family name and restore his money and home to him." She braced herself for Ron's reaction as soon as she saw his ears turning red.

"_What?_" he bellowed, jumping up. "You bloody well know that Dad doesn't even _know_ about the project – asking him for something like this would clue him in, and that's something that we can't afford to do! Besides, I refuse to ask _anyone_ to clear the Malfoy name, when the lot of them were supporters of the very person we're trying to get rid of!"

"Ron, it's the only way-"

"No," he interrupted her, shaking his head. "Merlin, Hermione," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "You risked your personal safety and the integrity of this mission by going down there, and-"

"How dare you, Ronald Weasley!" she snapped, rising to her feet to face him. "You can send that _cow_ down there to do it and _she_ doesn't risk the integrity of the mission, but I go down there and actually get the ruddy job done, and suddenly _I've_ risked it?"

"That's not how I meant it."

"That's _exactly_ how you meant it," she corrected him, her eyes glittering with anger. "I had to say something to spark his interest, otherwise you would have had to report to Dumbledore that you _failed_ at your task – and _this_ is the thanks I get for it?"

"Calm down, love," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Let's just think about this for a moment. Dad doesn't know anything because Dumbledore wanted him to be safe from consequences should we be found out. How are we going to ask him for anything?"

"I haven't quite figured that one out yet," she admitted. She was silent for a moment, remembering the conversation that had passed between Draco and herself. She frowned and looked over at Ron, who was running his fingers through his hair. "Ron, you've never done anything with Pansy Parkinson, have you?"

Ron turned startled eyes to her, and he paled slightly. "Why would you ask such a stupid question? Me and Parkinson? Really, Hermione – that's going a bit too far, even for you."

Hermione pursed her lips and stared at him. She could tell when he was lying to her – he'd always been a terrible liar, especially when he tried to lie to her or Harry. "What aren't you telling me?"

"There's nothing that I'm not telling you," he insisted, turning his back to her. "Nothing happened between us."

"You never slept with her?" Ron spun around to focus his incredulous gaze on her.

"What? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?"

"Malfoy said that-"

"_Malfoy_ said something? And you _believed _him, knowing what kind of a person he is?" Hermione bit her lip. He was right; she knew that Malfoy liked nothing better than to inflict misery on other people, and he had always especially enjoyed hurting her. Why _should_ she believe him?

"You're right, Ron," she whispered. "I don't know what got into me. I suppose that being with him in that place shook me up a bit." He moved forward and took her into his arms.

"It's completely understandable," he breathed softly. "Look, if you really want me to, I'll talk to my Dad tomorrow. Maybe I can take him out to lunch, somewhere away from the Ministry, and away from prying eyes." She pulled away and gave him a brilliant smile.

"Would you? Oh, Ron! Thank you so much!" She closed her eyes and squeezed him tightly as he rested his chin on top of her head.

_What have I gotten us both into?_


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Being back on Hogwarts grounds was a bit intimidating, if Ron were perfectly honest with himself. As he pushed open the heavy oak doors that led inside the castle, he felt like a frightened ten-year-old again. Immediately his senses were inundated – the scent of breakfast wafted in from the Great Hall; whispers and laughter of students echoed against the cool stones.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and headed straight for Dumbledore's office. If he stayed in one place for too long, he might stand there reminiscing and forget all about the task at hand, which he could not afford to do. Once he was standing in front of the statue, he sighed noisily.

"Fizzing Whizzby." Nothing happened. He frowned. "Lemon drops." Again, nothing happened. He had just opened his mouth to guess again when someone else said the password for him.

"Droobles' Best Blowing Gum." Ron turned and raised his eyebrows.

"Professor McGonagall," he said, greeting her with a curt nod.

"How have you been, Mister Weasley?"

"I've been fine – and yourself?"

"As well as can be expected. Well, you ought to get up there – I know he was expecting you this morning."

"Thanks, Professor," he said softly, watching her amble away. War had not been kind to her; Ron could see more wrinkles than he ever remembered her having. He shook his head and climbed the stairs slowly, clearing his throat when he reached Dumbledore's inner office.

"Ah, Good morning, Ron," he said fondly, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the seat that faced his desk. "Please, have a seat." Ron sat down and shifted nervously.

"Good morning, Sir."

"What news have you for me this morning?"

"Everyone has agreed."

"Most excellent." Ron opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. "Is there something else you'd like to tell me?"

"Well, one of the recruits didn't exactly say _yes,_ but Hermione thinks-"

"And I rather agree with her." Ron gaped at the old man.

"You know?"

"I do, Ron."

Ron leaned forward. "Can I ask you something, Sir?"

"Absolutely."

"Why did you choose Malfoy, of all people?" Ron was momentarily distracted by the sounds of loud protests coming from behind the Headmaster. Dumbledore turned to eye the portraits behind him.

"Dumbledore! A _Malfoy?_ How could you?" A scandalized woman's voice demanded.

"Really, what _were_ you thinking?" A male voice asked.

"Now, now; calm yourself, Dilys. You know very well _why_ I chose the boy."

"Care to explain it to _me?_" the man demanded. Dumbledore leveled a stare at him.

"Perhaps you would allow me to explain it to Mister Weasley, and simply listen along with him? I'm afraid I don't fancy repeating the same story several times over, Everard." The man crossed his arms over his chest and sat down in the chair behind him as Dumbledore turned back to Ron.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ron muttered sheepishly. Dumbledore gave him a half-smile.

"It's quite all right, actually. Phineas," Dumbledore turned unexpectedly toward the portrait of Hogwarts least favorite headmaster. "Perhaps _you_ could explain why I chose Mr. Malfoy for this assignment?"

"Because he's a Slytherin down to the very last drop of blood coursing through his veins," the portrait replied in a bored voice as he examined his fingernails. Dumbledore nodded as though this were exactly what he had expected to hear.

"And?" He prodded the corner of the portrait, causing the figure of Phineas Nigellus to jump back into his faded chair and curse.

"And," he said dryly, running a hand through what was once a full head of hair. "Slytherins do whatever is necessary to achieve their ends. Did you never _listen_ to the sorting hat's song in your seven years at Hogwarts, Weasley?" Ron ignored the portrait and turned back to Dumbledore.

"I know, they're cunning and ambitious and all of that, but don't you think he'll turn on us if he has the chance to get what he wants, and as a result, betray us in the process?" Dubledore was nodding solemnly at this statement, and almost as an afterthought, Ron added, "We can't give him what he wants, anyway."

"Ah, yes - I was hoping we could get to that point. Miss Granger promised him something in return for his involvement, is that correct?" It wasn't really a question, but Ron had learned many years ago not to question the old man's omniscience.

"She promised him impossible things when she spoke to him," Ron said desperately. "She promised him that she could restore his money, home, and the family name. To do that we'd have to involve Dad, and we both know that that's an impossibility! Malfoy'll quit as soon as he knows that Hermione lied to him!"

"All is not lost, Ron," Dumbledore said gently. "There may be as yet unforeseen circumstances that will allow Miss Granger to fulfill her end of the bargain – assuming that Mister Malfoy fulfills his to her satisfaction."

"What are you saying, Sir?" Ron asked, utterly confused.

"I'm saying don't give up hope yet. Later this afternoon I will owl you with the location that the recruits are to report to. Please meet them upon their arrival and debrief them, as I'm sure they're curious to know what they've gotten themselves into."

"I'm sure," Ron echoed dully.

"In the meantime, I'm afraid that I have to call our little meeting short. I have some things to tend to at the Ministry, and I'd like to be back before dinner." Dumbledore rose from his seat, and Ron did the same. Just as Ron was about to head down the staircase, Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ron turned to give him a quizzical look.

"Sir?"

"Believe it or not, Ron, there is always a light, even at the end of the darkest tunnel. It is up to you to find the good in every situation, and make the most of it."

"I'll keep that in mind when Malfoy manages to ruin everything we've worked for," Ron muttered under his breath. He was fairly certain that the old man had heard his muttered oath as he exited the office. When he was gone, Dumbledore exhaled slowly.

"Why didn't you tell the boy that you're retiring, Dumbledore?" one of the portraits demanded. Dumbledore turned tired eyes towards the speaker.

"Because I fear that this may be our last chance for success, and he has enough pressure on him as it is. He knows what he needs to know, and I'm not willing to sacrifice this mission for the want of foolish sentimentality."

"Bugger that," another portrait chimed in. "If you've trusted him with this much information, surely he's entitled to know that you're not going to be here much longer! After all, what will happen when he comes to see you again and finds Minerva here in your stead?"

"Dilys, you know very well why I've even stayed here this long."

"Yes, yes – the protection and overseeing of Harry Potter, and all of that rot," she snapped waspishly. "Harry Potter is an adult and capable of making his own decisions now, you know. No overseeing left there to do."

"That's highly arguable," Everard interrupted calmly. "Have you seen the latest article in the _Prophet?_ He's been at it again."

"The boy's temper is legendary," Dilys conceded. "And to think, Weasley was worried about the _Malfoy_ boy."

"That boy won't be able to control Potter, Dumbledore, and well you know it!" Phineus cried, outraged. Dumbledore turned amused eyes to the portrait.

"Of whom are you speaking, Phineus? Draco Malfoy, or Ron Weasley?"

"Neither one of them can handle him – and that's on a good day!"

"Allow me to put your mind at ease, then," Dumbledore said, amusement thick in his voice. "Miss Hermione Granger will be the one responsible for their training, not Ron Weasley." A roar of protests went up from several different portraits.

"_What!"_

"You're sending _her_ into that bunch of miscreants?"

"The best student in the history of Hogwarts, and you're feeding her to the lions!"

"Now, now," Dumbledore said calmly, gesturing for silence. "Miss Granger is more than capable of handling the situation."

"But you're putting her into seclusion for Merlin knows how long – and with a _Malfoy_, no less! He'll rip her to shreds before he takes orders from her!"

"Everard, it's already been decided. And perhaps Mister Malfoy will surprise you, after all."

"I doubt it," Everard mumbled, watching Dumbledore exit the office. "Then again, he might surprise us. He might kill everyone around him, instead of just killing the girl."

* * *

"Why, Ron, this is a pleasant surprise," Arthur said, giving his youngest son a brilliant smile. Ron grinned back and nodded.

"I don't take you out to lunch enough, Dad. We both work in the same building, and I hardly ever see you anymore."

"So," Arthur began, spearing a potato with his fork. "How are things between you and Hermione? Everything going well, I hope?"

Ron glanced down at his food. "We're fine. You know Hermione – she has a tendency to get absorbed with her work."

Arthur studied Ron's face silently for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "Is something wrong between the two of you?"

"No," Ron denied, shaking his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway."

"What's happened?"

"Nothing, really," Ron sighed, replacing his fork on the table. "She just – she can be so – how did you know that Mum was the right woman for you?"

Arthur smiled wistfully at this. "Having doubts, are you, then? Well, when I met your mother, sparks flew. Literally."

"What?" Ron laughed.

"She was trying to cast some spell that she'd heard about from one of her friends, and instead of it doing what she wanted it to do, her wand exploded. The sparks flew everywhere – including onto my dress robes, which caught fire almost immediately."

"Bollocks," Ron said, sniggering.

"It's true, every word," Arthur affirmed, grinning.

"What kind of spell was she trying to cast?"

"You know," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I don't think she ever told me that."

"And she wonders where Fred and George get their tendency for mischief," Ron chuckled. "So you knew right then that you were going to marry her?"

"Oh heavens, no," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It wasn't immediate. Nothing is ever immediate, Ron. What is it that the Muggles are so fond of saying? Anything worth having is worth waiting for."

"But what if you're not willing to wait?" Ron inquired softly.

"Are you telling me that you want to ask Hermione to marry you right away, or are you telling me that you don't want to be with her any longer?"

"I don't know what I want," Ron admitted, staring at his untouched food.

"Then might I make a suggestion? Better to stay with her until you _do_ figure out what you want."

"Why is that?"

"You might leave her only to find that she was what you wanted, and then it may be impossible to win her back."

Arthur's words rung in Ron's ears all the way back to the Burrow, but were forgotten as soon as he and his father walked in the door. Molly and Ginny were red-faced and engaged in what appeared to be a very heated row.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Mum- or you either, Dad," Ginny said as she packed her trunk. She sidestepped her mother, who seemed to think that blocking her daughter's movements would somehow change her mind.

"Ginny, dear, we're not trying to control you! You're a grown woman!" Ginny snorted, but Molly ignored her and tried standing in front of the trunk again. "We just want to know where you're going to be for this _undetermined amount of time_- as you so succinctly put it." Molly wiped her brow and glanced furtively at Arthur and Ron. The latter, who at that moment wished he were no more conspicuous than a fly on the wall, looked down at the floor, his ears burning. The former, who had some experience with his wife's temper, jumped to his feet.

"Your mother's right, Gin- especially now." He was talking about the twins and every one of them knew it, but Ginny wasn't going to let her father bait her. "We just want to know where you're going to be, that's all." He gave her a half smile and silently prayed that she would just give in.

"I've already told you that _I can't tell you anything_. I can't tell _anyone _anything." She slammed her trunk shut and pulled it off of her bed as Ron continued to stare at the floor.

"Ronald-" Molly's interest had shifted from her only daughter to her youngest son and Ron knew his turn under the microscope had come. "You're being awfully quiet. Do you know something about this? Is this Ministry business?" Molly had moved in front of Ron and was studying his face.

"Now, Molly," Arthur cleared his throat and laughed. "Surely if this were something to do with the Ministry, _I_ of all people would know about it!" Molly turned from Ron and stared at Arthur.

"Don't forget_, Minister_, that he does the dirty work around that place. How much of it do you _really_ think he tells you about?" Ginny had levitated her trunk and was calmly walking down the stairs as her mother, father, and brother tromped behind her.

"Speaking of dirty work, where's your _assistant_, Ron?" Ginny knew she had to change the subject somehow; Molly had come awfully close to discovering the truth.

"What assistant?" Arthur asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs and moved into the dining room.

"Pansy Parkinson has been assisting me with some boring paperwork," Ron said briskly to his father. "And I believe she took the day off to spend some time with her mother."

"I never did like that family for obvious reasons- but at least she visits her mother! I doubt Pansy Parkinson would ever leave for Merlin knows how long and go Merlin knows where without telling her mother about it!" One of Ginny's hands was on the doorknob, the other holding her wand as she rolled her eyes.

"Mum, Dad, I love both of you very much. As soon as I'm able to, I'll write." She gave each of them a quick hug and kiss, remembering at the last moment to give Ron one as well - since she wasn't supposed to be seeing him either - before walking out the door.

"I still think you know more than what you're telling us," Molly huffed, turning to her son. Ron could see that she was fighting back tears, and a wave of guilt swept over him. _If she knew what Ginny was getting into, she'd be doing more than crying._

"Mum, I'm a peon at the Ministry," Ron said, shaking his head. "Why would anyone tell me anything?"

"You're not fooling me one bit, Ronald," his mother snapped, her eyes wild. "I'm not daft, you know! I listen to you when you come over for dinner, and I remember everything."

"She does," Arthur put in. Ron stifled a laugh at the serious look on his father's face. He was, quite possibly, the most powerful political figure in the British Wizarding World at the present, and yet here he was, being henpecked by his wife. The hilarity of it all hit Ron like a ton of bricks, and he was unable to contain the laughter any longer.

"And just what is so funny?" Molly demanded, her hands flying to her hips.

"You think that I'm high enough in the Ministry to be informed of anything," he ad-libbed, still laughing. Molly's expression softened slightly.

"Are you _sure_ you don't know anything about where Ginny's going, or what she'll be doing?"

"I'm sure that I don't know," Ron replied honestly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He _didn't_ know any of the pertinent information regarding the whereabouts of the training site or the specific things the recruits would be doing; Hermione held all of that particular knowledge. Molly sighed heavily.

"All right, then. I believe you. Now let's all go and have a spot of tea to calm our nerves, because Merlin knows that we need it."

Ron made a mental note to buy his Mother a whole case of tea – she was going to need it before long.

* * *

_**More Hijinks From the Boy Who Lived!**_

_By Rita Skeeter, Staff Reporter_

_It would seem that the Wizarding world of Britain has more than one evil wizard to fear. Rivaling the Dark Lord himself, Harry Potter had another temper tantrum in front of the Quidditch team that he owns – namely, the Tutshill Tornados. In a fit of rage brought on by dirty drinking water, Potter fired the star Seeker of the team, his former flame, Cho Chang. This was Potter's fifth recorded tantrum in two months. When contacted, Potter declined to comment._

Harry snorted in disgust and tossed his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ to the floor. When was he going to _stop_ making the front page? Was it _really_ his fault that he had an increasingly bad temper when it came to- well, just about everything? He supposed that that was an unfortunate side effect of being connected to the most evil wizard who had ever lived.

"Unless you count me," he said out loud to himself, as he moved into his bedroom to begin packing. He frowned as he opened his suitcase and began throwing items in at random.

Rita Skeeter had long since abandoned any peace treaty that Hermione had put in place for her; Hermione spent long hours at the Ministry, working so much that she barely even read the _Prophet_ anymore. She was involved in all of the big happenings, Harry knew, so why should she bother reading what she already knew about?

Still, it never ceased to strike a nerve with him when he saw his name splattered across the front page like that. He slammed the suitcase shut and zipped it up with more force than was necessary. Some elements of the story had been true, but others had been blatantly falsified.

For starters, he hadn't _fired_ Cho – he'd suspended her. She had it coming, really. She'd been losing matches for them left and right, and Harry was tired of her noncommittal attitude. When he'd confronted her about it, she'd laid into him – in front of the _entire team_. That was unacceptable.

He did own the Tornados, but Skeeter had failed to mention that he was also the assistant coach – though he rarely showed up to practices, he was always at the matches, hidden away in a private box somewhere.

And what was with the dirty drinking water comment? He wondered. Before he had too much time to contemplate it, someone knocked on his door. He put his suitcase on the living room floor and peered through the eyehole in his front door.

"Harry, I know you're in there, so open the fuck up," the woman snapped impatiently. Harry groaned silently as he whispered the counter-charms for the locks on his door, and then unbolted the Muggle lock that he always used in addition to the magical ones.

"What do you want, Courtney?" The woman had short, fiery red hair, and piercing blue eyes.

"I want you to tell me why I haven't fucking well seen you in a week," she demanded, pushing past him and entering his flat uninvited. As soon as he'd closed the door, she rounded on him. "I've been sleeping with you for almost three months now, and you _still_ have yet to tell me anything about yourself!"

"Did you ever think that there might be a _reason_ for that?" he deadpanned, glaring at her.

"I refuse to be used by you, or any other man!" she shrieked, gesturing wildly with her hands. Her eyes darted around the room and landed on his suitcase. She narrowed her eyes at him and her lips thinned into a white line. "Where are you going?"

"Away."

"Where to?" she pressed.

"Look, I don't owe you any fucking explanations about where I'm going, why I'm leaving, or how long I'm going to be there!" he snarled, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "We're not dating, we're not married – so why don't you just get the hell out of here?"

Courtney's bottom lip trembled slightly as she stared at him. In the three months that they'd been having relations, she'd never heard him so much as raise his voice, let alone curse at her.

"That's it, then," she said, her voice shaking.

"That's it," he said, his anger cooling as suddenly as it had begun. "Please leave."

Courtney walked briskly to the door, but before she left, she turned and looked at Harry. "Believe it or not," she whispered, "I'll miss you."

She was gone before Harry even had the time to roll his eyes.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

It had been three days since Draco had been accosted by his old school mates, and on the morning of the fourth day he was to be found in an increasingly common state - sound asleep after some lengthy quality time spent in more than a few of London's worst pubs.

_Tap, tap, tap!_

Draco winced against the bright sunlight that flooded his bedroom and immediately squeezed his eyes shut against the assault, frowning to himself. It wasn't just the unholy sunlight that had awoken him; he'd been dreaming that someone was knocking on his door. He lifted his head from the pillow slowly to avoid the spinning sensation that always occurred after a serious bender - a trick that most drunks learn early on - and strained his ears.

_Tap, tap, tap!_

There it was again. He cracked one red eye open and saw that it wasn't a person knocking on his door, but a rather large barn owl at the window.

"I heard you," he grunted and swung his feet over the side of his bed.

"Stupid animal," he mumbled as he got out of bed slowly and made his way over to the window, draping a blanket over him as he went. He opened the window and took the rolled-up parchment and small parcel attached to it from the owl's leg and slammed the window shut. The owl hooted indignantly, presumably about the rough treatment it was unaccustomed to receiving.

He didn't bother unrolling the parchment or peering into the bag before throwing them into a remote corner of the shabby room; he knew what they were. The Ministry may have been suffering in other departments due to the war, but somehow he managed to get his meager stipend on the first of the month like clockwork. He fell back into bed, and cursed loudly when he connected with something soft and warm.

"Ouch!" a raspy voice said from beneath the covers. Draco hung his head, and suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn't been alone when he came home the night before. Curious, he lifted the bedspread back to reveal a naked woman whose face was obscured by a mane of shining auburn hair. Draco had the distinct impression that he had been with this woman prior to last night, but he couldn't be sure. Between the blackouts and moments of clarity, there had been many women. It was irrelevant, anyway. Women were fine in the dark but absolutely unbearable in the harsh sunlight of the morning after.

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" The girl sat up and reached for him, but Draco practically jumped away from her. It wasn't that she was hideous or anything – she was actually rather pretty - it was just that he couldn't remember in which pub he'd met her. If she was a Muggle and she happened to see the owl that had been perched at his window only moments before, that was bad. If she was a witch, then she _had_ to know who he was, and that was worse. He found her clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed and threw them at her.

"When I get out of the loo, I'd better be looking at an empty room."

"Aren't we hospitable this morning, love?" The girl laughed as she began pulling her clothes on, but Draco ignored her and stomped into the loo, slamming the door behind him.

Nausea hit him the moment he looked in the mirror and saw the pale, gaunt facing staring back at him.

_I look like a bloody ghost,_ he thought with growing irritation. He splashed some water on his face, vomited, and waited until he heard the front door slam before leaving the loo. He moved into the kitchen, tripping over a pile of clothing as he went, and began to shout obscenities to himself. His frustration took a physical form as began banging cabinet doors, searching for the coffee.

He had never been a pleasant person - no one who knew him would ever contradict that - but ever since he'd seen the pug face and the Mublood walk into _his_ pub and disrupt the shaky existence he had somehow managed for himself, his anger had barely been kept at bay.

'_So, this is what has become of the Great Draco Malfoy?' _He recalled Pansy's words at their impromptu meeting as he slammed a can of coffee and a chipped mug on the counter. The mug shattered instantly, causing Draco to reach up and begin massaging his temples. He cursed and waved his hand over the broken ceramic, restoring it to its original state. It infuriated him to no end that he could use wandless magic with some things and not others - like making the coffee in the morning. Even worse, domestic spells had always eluded him, and after several accidents that had resulted in nasty explosions, he had swallowed some of the one thing he still had left - namely his pride – and had resorted to making it the Muggle way.

Not that he had mastered _that_ technique, either.

"Goddamnit!" He roared as the coffee urn fell from his shaking hand and landed with a _thud_ on his toes. Hopping on the uninjured foot, he managed to make it back to his bed - the lone piece of furniture in what served as a bedroom/living area combo. Or, at least, that's how the sadistic landlord had described it when he'd shown him the dump. He massaged his aching foot as snippets of Pansy's and Hermione's conversations flooded his mind.

'_What if I said that if you joined us I could get you the Manor back, and the money, and restore the family honor and the rest of the nonsense that you fanatical pure-bloods care about?'_

_She couldn't, she's a lying, despicable half-breed that would do anything to get what she wants. _

He made a noise then that, had anybody else made it, would have been called a 'chuckle,' but from Draco's lips, even that act seemed to drip with disdain.

_No, that's just me, except for the part about being a half-breed._

A small voice tugged at the back of his consciousness.

_What if she's not lying?_

He surveyed the small, decaying rooms; the peeling paint, broken fixtures, and piles of trash that were mounting by the day, and cursed loudly again. The truth was that he had no idea whatsoever how to take care of himself. His whole life he had been coddled and pampered. There was always an elf to shout orders at (or kick if the mood struck him) or his mother hovering over him, making sure he always got what he wanted. _Always_. His heart turned over when her face, so much like his own, flashed in his mind.

He shook his head in an effort to wipe the image away and sighed. He didn't like to think about them _or_ that night. He had resorted to drinking every drop of alcohol that his body would allow in an attempt to rid himself of their memories. It was difficult, seeing as he had a daily reminder of how vastly changed his life was now that his parents were dead. The Ministry had seen to that.

_His parents had been dead less than an hour when the Ministry Officials stormed the manor and found Draco in the Parlor, standing over his parents' lifeless bodies. He hadn't said a word in the chaos as lights began flashing and people shouted and someone was in front of him asking endless questions. He said nothing still as they ushered him out of the manor and back to the Ministry. _

_When they reached a large room filled to the high ceiling with stone benches and hundreds of_ _witches and wizards staring down at him, he felt the first wave of panic penetrate his traumatized state. His head turned in all directions; he couldn't believe how they had all managed to assemble in such a short amount of time. _

_They were all there, too - the ones that had been working for years to bring down his father's master. The disgusting Weasleys, flanked by their idiot father, who, it was rumored at the time, was next in line for the Minister's job. Fudge, who was fooling nobody with his staged captures of 'alleged death eaters' and his belated 'change of mind' about Voldemort. He was on his way out, but he was desperately trying to salvage some part of his reputation in the process. Potter, the Mudblood, and the rest of the Wizarding world waited to punish him for crimes which they couldn't possibly prove - although at this stage of the game, proof was highly irrelevant. _

He tried to shake the image of the courtroom and his enemies' faces from his mind as he got up from the bed again and made a second attempt at the coffee. He had to have something- _anything_- in his stomach before he started to drink. Otherwise he wouldn't have even half of his usual stamina when he began to hit the bottle hard later. It was his routine, one that he had created to stop himself from having pointless thoughts about the past, like these.

_Potter had been first on the stand to assist Fudge in his witch hunt. _

"_No-" In his many battles with Voldemort and the Death Eaters,_ _he had never seen Draco. _

"_But, it's not likely that I would have, is it? After all, the cowards wear masks over their faces." He turned and leveled eyes with Draco, who returned the malevolent stare. _

_Fudge turned dramatically, pointing his wand at Draco's heart, and commanded that he roll up the sleeves of his robes. Draco obliged, and Fudge sighed with disappointment at the sight of the pale, unmarked flesh._

_Others, including Dumbledore and Snape, had testified that Draco had never once been accused of being a Death Eater. Weasel King had testified that while Draco had never revealed himself as one of Lord Voldemort's servants, he was the only child of the Dark Lord's right hand man. It simply made sense to assume that he shared his father's beliefs. When he compared Draco to Barty Crouch, Draco had become sick to his stomach. _

_When Draco had been allowed to defend himself, he'd faltered several times, finally breaking down and sobbing that his parents were dead and his world was over, and they only cared about their political agendas. His words were met with harsh clicks of the tongue and more than a few accusations of dishonesty. _

_Several minutes went by as Fudge whispered back and forth with Weasley, Madam Bones, and Dumbledore. Finally Fudge cleared his throat, and Draco could tell from the look on his pudgy face that he had gotten what he wanted. _

"_Mr. Malfoy, as there is no concrete evidence that proves you are, in fact, a Death Eater, it is the court's obligation to clear you of these charges." The crowd gasped, and Draco let out a loud sigh of relief. He understood later why Fudge had looked so happy when he quieted the mob, and cleared his throat again before continuing to speak. _

"_However, as your father was an escaped murderer and a known Death Eater who used his wealth as a means for bribery and criminal activity, it is the decision of this court to seize all assets of Lucius Malfoy, including all business and personal vaults at Gringott's bank, as well Malfoy Manor."_

_Fudge had finally gotten what he always wanted; Lucius' money without all of the nasty strings attached. Draco's jaw dropped. _

"_You can't be serious! How am I supposed to live?"_

_The court had adjourned, and after everyone had exited, Draco was left still sitting where he'd been since the moment he'd entered the room. He was only vaguely aware of Dumbledore in the corner of the room, whispering furiously to Madam Bones, Fudge, and the Weasley patriarch. After several moments of what appeared to be a heated conversation, Dumbledore and the eldest Weasley approached him._

"_Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said in soft greeting. Draco hadn't moved; hadn't even looked up to acknowledge the old man's presence. "Seeing as how you're about to enter a transitional period of your life, the Wizengamot has seen fit to issue you a stipend every month."_

"_Stipend?" Draco had echoed, his voice hollow and bitter. His eyes were still cast downward. "You mean an allowance?"_

"_It isn't a very significant amount, I'm afraid," Dumbledore had continued, ignoring Draco's accusation. "But it's better than nothing at all. Arthur Weasley will be the one who assures that your monthly pay is sent to you." At this, Draco had looked up. Arthur Weasley had taken a step back at the venom that was present in the boy's glare._

"_I'm to depend on a _Weasley_ for my own money?" Dumbledore had murmured comforting words that Draco had pointedly ignored in favor of glaring daggers at the redhead in front of him. Despite his anger, though, the eldest Weasley male had never been late in sending Draco's money._

"And here I am," he said out loud. Just then he saw something rolling around on the dirty floor. His eyes widened when he saw that it was glowing bright green. He bent down for a closer look and snarled when he realized what it was.

"Mudblood!" It was the parchment that Hermione had given him. In addition to glowing, the date that had been inscribed over the seal was blinking. Draco realized that the frigid egghead had put a charm on it.

"Merlin, I_ hate_ her!" He threw the parchment across the room and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. Her know-it-all attitude had always angered him, and now here she was, throwing it in his face all over again.

'_Look what I can do! Look at how smart I am! Look Potter! Look Weasley!'_

It was disgusting. He took a long drink, enjoying the euphoria as it washed over him. He looked over his surroundings, and frowned. The parchment was now speaking!

'_Time's almost gone!'_

'_Time's almost gone!'_

He threw the bottle at it, but it only got louder.

'_I'll expire in an hour!'_

'_I'll expire in an hour!'_

Would he really be willing to put up with the people he hated most in the world to get his life back?

* * *

Hermione bounced nervously on the balls of her feet as she waited for the recruits to arrive. The burly man beside her rolled his eyes so many times that Hermione was sure that they would roll right out of his head at any moment.

A girl could _hope_, anyway.

She exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the small white cloud that her breath formed in the wintry air. Perhaps she could make a game of it, just as she had when she'd been a small girl. She used to love lying on her back and staring at the clouds, trying to make shapes out of them. A puff of breath in icy air was essentially the same thing, wasn't it? She let her mind wander off in this vein, and had been so absorbed in thinking about it that when a delicate hand fell on her shoulder, she screamed.

"Whoa," Ginny said, withdrawing her hand and giving Hermione a cautious look. "Bit jumpy, are we?"

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, taking a deep breath to calm her now racing heart. "I wasn't paying attention, and you took me by surprise."

"I'm good at that sort of thing," Ginny said, shrugging. She dropped the bag she'd been carrying at her feet and looked around. "So where is everyone else?"

"You're the first one here."

"Oh, cripes," Ginny sighed, rubbing her face. "I _hate_ waiting."

"You won't have to wait too long," Hermione said softly, her eyes focused on a figure behind Ginny. Ginny turned and let out a loud squeal, then took off to meet Harry.

"Harry! How in the bloody hell have you been?" She jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist as her arms went around his neck. He looked momentarily surprised, and then a wide grin split his face.

"Damn, Ginny," he laughed, hugging her back before she dropped to her feet. "Miss me much?"

"Seeing as how you've made yourself so scarce, is it any wonder?" she asked, smiling broadly at him. Hermione smiled to herself; it turned out that some things never changed.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, resting his arm around Ginny's shoulders as he neared. Hermione smiled at him.

"Hi, Harry. It's good to see you again." Harry let his arm drop and glanced around.

"I thought you said that there were four others besides me. It looks like there's only two."

"Two?" Hermione asked, sounding puzzled. Harry nodded towards the heavyset man that was resting on a tree stump, and Hermione burst into giggles. "Oh, no! _He's_ not one of you."

"Who is he, then?"

"A tattooist," came a male voice from behind Harry. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione turned to see Neville striding purposefully towards them. Hermione could almost feel the surprise radiating off of her two friends.

"Neville!" Ginny exclaimed. He gave her a wry smile, and then nodded curtly at Harry.

"Hullo, Harry."

"Hey, Neville. How've you been?"

Neville shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I've… been."

A moment of silence passed between the two men before Hermione realized what they must be doing. She stomped her foot petulantly, and they turned to look at her.

"There'll be none of that, you two," she demanded, her hands flying to her hips. Harry grinned again, and Neville gave her a faint smile.

"None of what?" Ginny asked, frowning. She looked back and forth between the two of them, confusion etched on her freckled face. Before anyone could answer her, however, a familiar voice called out to them.

"Oy, fellow Gryffindors!" The small group turned to see Angelina Weasley striding towards them, a smile on her thin face.

"Ang!" Ginny squealed, running to hug her sister-in-law. Angelina laughed and hugged her back.

Neville watched in silence as Harry, Ginny, and Angelina began talking and laughing, and then he turned to Hermione, who was absentmindedly rubbing her hip. "Where's the other one?"

Startled, Hermione jumped. She made sure not to make eye contact with Neville as she chose her words very carefully. "He'll be here any moment, I'm sure."

_I hope.

* * *

_

It was her perfume, Ron decided finally, that was the most distracting thing about the girl. It was sweet like honey, and it had been invading his nostrils from the moment the doors to the Ministry car had slammed shut and he and Pansy had been chauffeured away. The scent was even more distracting than the slender hand that had been inching toward his thigh for the last several minutes - but he was doing everything in his power to ignore the not-so-subtle advances she was throwing at him.

"I can't believe we're going in this stupid Muggle contraption." She turned to look at him, and Ron had trouble ignoring the way her skirt settled at least four inches higher on her thighs in the new position.

"No magic." He turned away from her to look out the window and hide the blush that had risen in his cheeks. "I told you that before we left. If you didn't want to do it the Muggle way, you should have stayed at the office." A shock went through him as her hand settled lightly on his shoulder, gently turning him back around.

"I'm not opposed to _all_ Muggle activities, you know." She arched a perfect eyebrow at him and moved her hand to rest right on top of his thigh.

"You have to stop this." He moved away from her grasp. "I _told_ you, I love Hermio-"

"Don't say her name," she said in a cold voice. "I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hearing about her and you and your perfect little _delusional _world."

"Delusional?"

"You may have tricked your pretty little head into believing that she was, is, and always will be the love of your life, but _I _know better." Ron's eyes shifted to the driver and the look he gave her couldn't have been more plain: _be quiet!_

"Don't talk about that," he hissed.

"Why not? It wasn't so long ago that you used to whisper _my_ name, and tell me how much you wanted _me." _She reached for him again and was inwardly shocked when Ron didn't resist.

"It never would have worked, and you know it. We're too different, we believe in diff-"

"That may have been true five years ago, but people change, Ron. I'm not the same person I was anymore than you are."

"You look the same to me," he said, gently plucking her hand from his knee and dropping it onto the seat. She pursed her scarlet lips together and stifled a frustrated sigh.

"I'm here with you now, aren't I?"

"I'll not be fooled into thinking it's a desire to do good that brings you here," Ron said, his voice cool. "Which is further proof that you haven't changed a bit – you're still looking out for you and doing exactly what you need to do in order to get what you want."

"So I'm a hedonist," she said playfully, shrugging. "Would that more of us were – there would be a lot more happy people walking around, I can tell you that."

"You're not just a hedonist," he said, his eyes still focused on the scenery that whipped by outside. "You're selfish and self-serving. A bad combination all around."

"Oh, and your girlfriend the _saint_ makes you so happy?" she snapped angrily.

"At least when I go to bed with Hermione, I don't have to wonder if she'll be there when I wake up in the morning," he said, leveling a cold look at her.

"As I recall, love, _you_ were the one who pulled the disappearing act, not me."

"I had nothing to stay for."

"Your defeatist attitude is really starting to brass me off," she said, her cheeks flushing.

"We're here. Be a good girl and stay in the car, won't you?" he asked glibly, exiting the vehicle. He moved towards the group, stopping only when he was standing beside Hermione.

"All right there, love?" he asked quietly, his eyes focused on the group. She nodded.

"I'm fine, Ron. They're ready for you."

"Where's-"

"He'll be here." Ron doubted the certainty in his girlfriend's voice, but cleared his throat and began to speak anyway.

"Welcome, everyone," he said, his voice full of authority. "First of all, I want to say thank you for agreeing to be a part of this project. You have all been hand chosen to be a part of this, and since I'm sure that you're anxious to get going, I'll make this brief."

"Too late for that," Ginny muttered under her breath. The only person who'd heard her was Harry, and he shot a highly amused look at her before turning his attention back to Ron.

"Before you're transported to your training location, we're going to have to ask you to allow Jamison here to mark you."

"_Mark_ us?" Angelina echoed. "You mean like a Dark Mark?" There were hushed whispers among the recruits, and Hermione interrupted.

"Not a Dark Mark – the same concept, but not the same thing."

"We need a way to identify all of you, and this was determined to be the best way. It will also serve as your portkey to the training location, as well as a means of communication between you."

"You mean you're not getting one?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I've already gotten mine," Ron explained. Hermione gave him a surprised look, which Harry narrowed his eyes at. "It's a fairly simple procedure – much like what you would experience should you get a Muggle tattoo."

"While Harry and Hermione may know what that entails, I'm sure Ginny and Neville and I would like to know what you mean," Angelina said, frowning.

"A Muggle tattooist uses a needle and permanent ink to embed an image in your skin," Ginny explained, her cheeks flushing pink. Every pair of eyes turned to focus on her.

"And how, exactly, would you know that?" Angelina asked. Ginny shifted nervously where she stood, and then lifted the hem of her shirt. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as the redhead revealed a tiny broom in the middle of her lower back. Ron's eyes widened, and Harry grinned.

"Way to go, Gin," he commented softly. The color on Ginny's cheeks deepened from pink to crimson.

"I'm not going to ask if Mum and Dad know about that," Ron said sternly. Ginny let go of her shirt, and the tattoo was covered. "Anyway – Jamison is going to use a specially charmed quill to mark each of you. The quill will decide what mark is most appropriate for you."

"How does that work?" Harry asked curiously.

"The quill has been charmed to attune itself to the more distinct aspects of your personality, and from that it chooses an image that best suits you. I'm not going to lie to you – it isn't painless, but it's quick. Once the tattoo is complete, Hermione will activate the relocating spell, and you'll all be transported to the training location. No one knows where you will be except for her."

"What are we waiting for?" Ginny asked. "Let's get on with it!"

"So eager to leave, sweet?" Ron squeezed his eyes shut as Pansy's saccharine voice addressed his sister.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he hissed. She smirked at him.

"Apparently I'm not a good girl like you thought," she purred, slinking up beside him. "Perhaps it would be in your best interests to punish me and teach me a lesson."

"I'd like to-" Hermione started towards her, but Ron restrained her.

"Jamison, if you would," he said, nodding at the heavy man. He grunted and rose from his seat on the tree stump.

"Who wants to go first?" Hermione asked, still glaring at Pansy. Neville stepped forward.

"I'll do it." He rolled up his right sleeve and extended his arm towards the tattooist, and Ron gave Hermione a strange look.

"Are they all going to be on the arms?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Jamison told me that the quill will pick an appropriate spot for the mark."

Everyone watched with bated breath as Jamison gently touched the quill to the skin of Neville's arm. To their collective surprise, the quill then jumped out of the tattooist's hand and circled around Neville once before returning to the tender underside of his arm. When the tip of the quill pricked his skin, he sucked in a deep breath.

Hermione was the only one who couldn't bear to watch as the quill did its work. Ron hadn't lied – the procedure was over in a manner of moments, and when Jamison took the quill back into his hand, Neville was left gripping his arm just below the tattoo. Harry, Ginny, and Angelina gathered close so they could peer at the mark.

"What in Merlin's name is it?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Why don't we let Jamison clean the blood off first, and then you'll be able to tell," Ron said crossly, gesturing for the man to do what he'd said. The man grunted and produced a moist white cloth (and no one wanted to know _how_ or with _what_ it had been moistened), then proceeded to wipe Neville's arm clean. When he was finished, all eyes were back on Neville's arm.

"Again, what in Merlin's name is it?" Ginny frowned.

"It's the eye of Horus," Hermione supplied, her voice slightly awed. Neville blinked as he stared at the new permanent addition to his body.

"So what's the significance?" Harry asked.

"The eye of Horus, also called the Udjat, is an Egyptian symbol for healing and protection." Everyone stared at Hermione as she flushed pink. "What?"

"Is it a magical symbol?" Ginny asked uncertainly. "Because we went to Egypt and I don't remember seeing it."

"It's a magical symbol." All eyes turned to Ron. "We saw it loads of times in the pyramids, remember?"

"I _don't_ remember, actually," Ginny sniffed, her eyes full of mischief. "I was too busy trying to help Fred and George shut Percy in one of them to look at the artwork on the walls." Ron snorted at this.

"All right, enough of this. Who's next?"

"I'll go," Harry volunteered. Jamison discarded the bloody cloth he'd been holding and moved towards Harry with the quill. He touched it to the back of Harry's hand and watched as the quill began its circle again. When the quill stopped just above Harry's heart, he frowned.

"Have to take your shirt off, laddie," Jamison grunted. Harry removed his shirt and winced as the quill penetrated the tender skin of his chest. Several deep breaths later, and the heavyset man was wiping the blood away with a new cloth.

"Interesting," Hermione commented, her cheeks flushing pink at seeing Harry's bare chest.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously, straining to look.

"It looks like a feather," Ginny said, staring unabashedly at Harry's naked torso.

"It's the feather of Maat," Hermione commented, turning her eyes away. Harry pulled his shirt back on and ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to smooth it out.

"What does it mean?"

"It stands for truth, justice, morality, and balance. It's said that in Ancient Egypt, it was the Pharoh's job to uphold Maat, and when he died, the Maat died with him and the whole of the world was sent into chaos." All eyes turned to stare at Harry, whose cheeks turned scarlet.

"Are you sure this ruddy quill is on the up and up?" he asked, embarrassed by the attention.

"Absolutely," Hermione said. "Next?"

"I'll go," Ginny said, stepping forward. Jamison tossed the bloody cloth he'd been holding onto the ground, and touched the quill to the back of Ginny's hand. It circled around her twice before stopping somewhere behind her. Ron's face turned crimson.

"I think you'll have to remove your shirt as well, Gin."

"Well, I'm not bloody well doing it in front of _you,_" she snapped. "Turn around." Hermione noted, with no small amount of amusement, that Ginny hadn't asked _Harry_ to turn his back to her. She grasped her shirt at the hem and pulled it over her head. Neville averted his eyes modestly, but Hermione almost burst into giggles when she saw that Harry was staring openly.

The quill broke the skin of Ginny's left shoulder blade and began working furiously. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Hermione was surprised when they didn't spill over. Jamison began wiping away the smeared blood, and Ginny cursed.

"Watch it," she snarled, her eyes flashing at the man. He backed off, and Ginny turned her back to Hermione. "What is it?"

Hermione stepped closer and examined the fresh wound. "It's an Ieb."

"A what?"

"An Ieb. It's the Egyptian symbol for a heart."

"And the significance of that is what, exactly?" Ginny asked, gingerly pulling her shirt back on.

"Well," Hermione began. "The Egyptians believed that the heart was the center of all consciousness – the center of life itself, even. When someone died, it was believed that their heart had departed, and it was the only organ not removed from the body during mummification."

"Interesting," Ginny muttered, exhaling slowly. Hermione frowned to herself. She knew another bit of information about Ginny's mark that was far more interesting than the history she'd just given everyone, and she wondered if it bade well for any of them.

"I guess it's my turn," Angelina said hesitantly, stepping forward. Jamison touched the quill to the back of her hand, and they all watched as the quill circled her once, then stopped at the back of her neck.

"Lift your hair up, Ang," Ginny ordered gently. When the quill pierced her skin, Angelina gasped.

"That _hurts_," she squeaked. Moments later, Jamison was lifting his hand to touch the clean white cloth to the blood on Angelina's neck. Ginny snatched it away from him and glared at him.

"I'll do it." She gently touched the cloth to the tattoo, and Angelina winced. "It looks like a set of arms reaching up," she murmured, blotting the blood with the cloth.

"Really?" Hermione asked, interested. She moved behind Angelina and looked at the mark the quill had chosen. "Oh, she's right. It's a Ka."

"Ka?" Angelina echoed.

"The Ka is the symbol for someone's soul," Hermione explained, watching Ginny tend to the sore spot. _Perhaps Ginny would have been better suited with the eye of Horus,_ she thought. "When a person died, it was said that they went to meet their Ka, although I've always thought that was rubbish."

"What? Why?"

"Because the Egyptians believed that the Ka lived on after the person died. The Ka was the reason that they filled tombs and pyramids with food and provisions for the afterlife – because the Ka would need them for the journey."

"Well, now that the Mud-" Ron shot Pansy a warning look, and she sighed. "Now that _Granger_ has given us an impromptu history lesson, why is everyone just standing here?"

"_I_ give the orders here, Parkinson," Ron snapped, his eyes darkening with anger.

"Yes, what _are_ you doing here, anyway, Pansy?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. Pansy gave him a feral grin and moved closer to Ron.

"I'm Ron's assistant," she supplied. Hermione's face flushed with anger, and Harry met Ginny's eyes.

"_Assistant?"_ he mouthed disbelievingly. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"_Don't ask,"_ she mouthed back.

"You should probably get going," Ron conceded, ignoring Pansy's smug look. "The sooner you get to the training point, the better. You'll need to get settled before dark."

"Wait," Harry said, glancing around. "We're still missing someone, aren't we?"

"He won't show," Pansy remarked caustically. Hermione leveled a glare at her.

"He'll be here."

"Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Maybe you'd better get going."

"He'll be here," she insisted, turning her glare towards Ron. He held his hands up in surrender.

"All right, if you say so. Well everyone, it was nice seeing you all again. I have to get back to the office and take care of some messy paperwork – good luck to all of you. We're counting on you."

"Oh, no pressure," Ginny remarked, sighing as Ron made his way back to the car with Pansy following on his heels.

"All right," Hermione said resignedly. "I'm going to activate your tattoos."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Angelina asked.

"I'm going to send you ahead of me and I'm going to wait here for exactly five minutes for the last recruit to show. If he doesn't, I'll be right behind you." Hermione took her wand out of her pocket and motioned everyone forward. One by one, she touched the tip of her wand to the new tattoos and whispered the incantation that made them disappear. When it was just her and the tattooist, she folded her arms across her chest.

"Five minutes is all you get, Malfoy," she muttered under her breath. "And then you've lost your chance."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Well, Jamison," Hermione sighed, uncrossing her arms and letting them fall limply to her sides. "I think you've finished for the day." The man frowned at her.

"But I thought ye needed me to mark _seven_ people, lass," he puzzled. "'An I've only marked _six_."

"I thought we needed seven, too," she commiserated, rubbing her temple gently. "But it looks like I was mistaken."

"Well, if ye'll not be needin' me services any longer," he began. "Then again, ye might be needin' me, after all."

"What? I just _told_ you-"

"I know, lass," he said, smiling. "But I think tha' lad might be the last one I need to mark." Hermione's head whipped around so quickly that she was surprised her neck didn't snap in the process. There, making his way slowly across the frozen grass towards her, was Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy." Hermione gave him a short nod, and distracted herself from the butterflies that had sprung up at the sight of him by marking his name off the list she'd been keeping in the pocket of her robes. "Before you can be transported to the training facility, Jamison here will need to mark you-"

"Let's be clear about this, _Mudblood_, before you get all excited about being in charge, shall we?" His voice was thick and his slate eyes shifted to the large man she had indicated. Hermione knew right away that he must be drunk.

"Yes, let's." Hermione ignored the _Mudblood_ comment in favor of establishing the pecking order. _"I'm_ in charge, Malfoy. That's the bottom line. If you can't respect that, then you may as well go home."

_"You_ approached _me,_ remember? I could care less about your latest cause." He turned to leave, and Hermione realized just how difficult this undertaking was actually going to be. She sighed with impatience at his retreating back.

"Yes, under _Dumbledore's_ orders, I recruited you. Had it been up to me, _your_ name would never even have crossed my mind. I can think of hundredsof other qualified wizards better suited for the task at hand. Some of them actually _don't_ drinkall day, every day." She smiled knowingly when he turned back around. _Doesn't like being called out, does he?_

"Well then, you seem to be mistaken in your last comment, if it's Dumbledore's orders you're following, right, _Muggle?_"

"He picked the recruits and put me in charge of them. Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Malfoy had begun cackling at her and had fallen over. She withdrew her wand to perform a Sobering Charm. Immediately he clutched his head.

"You _really_ piss me off when you do that, you fucking bitch," he snarled, clambering to his feet. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's insubordination, Malfoy, and I won't stand for it. Not a bit."

"Maybe you'll sit for it, then," he hissed, drawing his wand. Hermione pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

"Go on, then. If it will make you feel better, go ahead and hex me. Better yet, _kill_ me, if you can remember the spell, you sodding drunk."

Draco's eyes narrowed, and Hermione flushed with triumph when his wand wavered slightly. "I'll not be your monkey boy, Mudblood."

"Nobody's asking you to be, you great bloody jackass!" she snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Now put your wand away so Jamison can mark you and we can get the hell out of here!"

"Mark me?" Draco asked, frowning. He eyed the heavyset man cautiously. "Mark me how?"

"In the same way all of the other recruits were marked," she said, tapping her foot impatiently.

"_Other_ recruits?" Draco echoed, glancing around. "I don't see anyone else here."

"That's because _they_ were all sober and on time," she pointed out.

"Good for them."

"Can we get on with this? I don't have time for games."

"I'm not playing games, half-breed." He leveled his steely eyes at her, eliciting a small gasp from her lips, and for the first time, she had an inkling of perhaps why he'd been picked for the mission in the first place. "I'm here for one reason and one reason only – my home and my money."

"Are you _really_ this stupid? First, that's _two_ reasons-

"Oh, ever the fucking know-it all-"

"Second," she snapped, cutting him off, "I _said_ I would get it all back, and I will. End of Story."

"I want a contract drawn up, signed by you and Dumbledore and King of the Weasels before I let even _one_ of that fat man's fingers anywhere near me."

"I repeat: Are you _really_ this stupid? In all of your pure-blooded wizarding glory, has the concept of a magical contract eluded you?"

"You mean that just because you said you would do it, you're bound by magic-"

"Yes! Now, can we move things along, please? I realize it's been a while since structure was a part of your life, but now you are interfering with _my_ schedule, Malfoy. Jamison!" She called his name but jumped when she realized he was standing right next to her, having remained silent during she and Draco's tussle. "Give him the bloody tattoo already, and let's get on with it!"

"Tattoo?" Draco asked, taking a step back when Jamison approached him with the quill. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, a tattoo. It's going to hurt like bloody hell, but only for a few moments. Then I'll be able to use it to transport you to the training location, and you'll be able to use it to communicate with the other recruits. Enough explanation – my patience is quickly reaching its breaking point!"

Jamison stepped closer to Draco, but the blonde took another wary step backwards. Hermione let out a growl and held her hand out. "Just give me the damned quill, already!" Jamison shot her a warning look, but handed the quill to her. When she approached Draco, he didn't move.

"Hold your hand out," she commanded. Draco stood perfectly still, ignoring her. "I swear to Merlin, Draco Malfoy, if you don't hold your hand out of your own volition, I will _take it myself._"

Draco stuck his hand out.

Hermione touched the quill to the back of his hand, then released it as it lifted into the air and circled him once. It stopped in front of the zipper on his jeans, and Hermione exhaled in frustration. "You've _got _to be kidding me," she muttered. Draco was staring at the quill.

"What's it doing?"

"Drop your pants." Draco's eyes flew up to stare at Hermione.

"What in the bloody hell-"

"The quill chooses the spot on your body that it deems most appropriate for the tattoo. Drop your pants so we can get on with it." Draco stared at her for another moment before a smirk tugged at his mouth. He began to unbutton his jeans, and Hermione turned away in embarrassment.

"Never thought you'd be so hard up for it," he said, nearly laughing. In the next moment, however, his breath was stolen away as the quill went to work. When the quill had finished, it returned to Jamison's hand. The burly man approached Draco with a moistened cloth, and Draco retreated slightly.

"What exactly does he think he's going to do?"

"He needs to clean the wound," Hermione explained, her back still to Draco.

"Like hell he will," Draco swore.

"Well _I'm_ not going to do it!" Hermione snapped. There was a brief pause, then, "What does it look like?" Draco shot an incredulous glare at the back of her head.

"What do you mean, what does it look like? Don't we all have one?"

"Everyone has been marked, but not with the same symbols."

"Oh," he digested this bit of information with interest. Then, "What did everyone else get?"

"I don't know," she lied crossly. "Just tell me what _yours_ looks like."

"Did you get one?"

"I-" she stuttered for a moment, and then took a steadying breath. "Yes."

"Why did you hesitate?" he asked, not bothering to refasten his pants.

"I didn't," she said defensively. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Will you just tell me what it looks like, you stupid prat?"

"Turn around and look for yourself," he drawled lazily. "If you're so fucking interested."

Hermione bit her lip and turned around slowly, hating the heat that rose into her cheeks at the sight of the tattoo marring the pale flesh of his left hip. She blinked in surprise. Apparently the quill had seen fit to mark him in the same spot in which it had marked her! He noticed her surprise and narrowed his eyes at it.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"No – nothing is wrong," she said, shaking her head.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What is it?"

"It's a flail and crook. An Ancient Egyptian symbol."

"Oh," he said, peering down at it. "What did it mark you with?"

"A Sesen."

"A what?"

"A lotus flower."

"Where?"

"Same place you got yours."

"Let me see it."

"Absolutely not!" she huffed, her eyes flashing again. "It's time to go."

"Granger," he drawled, his face the very picture of calmness, "I'm not fucking well going anywhere until I've seen your mark."

"Why do you care? These tattoos are for our protection and communication. The location is hardly the most interesting thing about them." Draco stared at her, unmoving.

"You really are nothing more than a spoiled brat whose toys have been taken away!" She couldn't remember ever being this angry before in her entire life.

"Sticks and Stones, Granger -now get on with it, or we might as well settle down here for the night with the circus freak for company." He gestured to Jamison, who began charging at Draco. He stopped when Hermione said a few well-chosen words in what sounded very much like a series of grunts. After a moment, Jamison disapparated. "Was that _troll_ that you were just speaking?"

"He's a half-breed," she explained, nodding. "And you're lucky he didn't take your head off just now."

"Yes, yes, I'm lucky. Now it's your turn to drop your pants."

"If I show you, will you shut up already?"

"Maybe," he said noncommittally. She rolled her eyes and slid her fingers beneath the waistbands of her slacks and her knickers, then tugged down slightly. She winced as the fabric brushed the still sensitive mark. Draco craned his neck to look at her mark, and he smirked as she let her garments snap quickly back into place.

"All right, you smarmy bastard, are you satisfied? It's time to go."

* * *

"This _can't_ be the right place," Angelina said, staring at the grey stones of the building in front of her. The frigid wind whipped all around them, and the sea looked like it might up and devour the island, and them along with it. "It just _can't_."

"Well," Neville said, shrugging. "It _is_ deserted, after all – and who would ever think to look for us here?"

"Neville's right," Harry agreed. "Hermione is wicked clever to have chosen this spot."

"But _Azkaban?_" Angelina persisted as they stepped over the threshold.

"Ang, it's been deserted for years," Ginny explained gently. "There's nothing and no one in here that could possibly harm us."

"I just can't believe that we're going to train _here_," Angelina sniffed, trying to look disdainful instead of apprehensive.

"What I'm wondering is who the last recruit is," Ginny commented, squinting her eyes to peer into a darkened corner. Harry turned to Neville.

"Did you catch a name, Nev?" he asked. Neville shook his head.

"I think Hermione must be catching on, because a lot of things were very vague today," he said, giving Harry a meaningful look. Ginny stopped squinting into the corner and turned her head to stare at Harry and Neville.

"The two of you are being very odd," she commented. Harry grinned and Neville turned his eyes away. "There's something that you're not telling us."

"But there's nothing that _you're_ not telling _us_," Harry said cryptically. Neville laughed as Ginny frowned at Harry.

"You're being very ambiguous," Ginny remarked, still eyeing Harry. "We're all going to be together for a while, so why don't you just tell us what it is that you're hiding?"

"Hiding?" Harry asked, feigning innocence. "Why, whatever would make you think that I'm hiding something, Miss Weasley?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Fine, don't tell me. But I'll find out sooner or later. I'm good at that."

"Why don't we concentrate on something else?" Angelina asked, her eyes flitting to and fro in the dim light of the room they were in. Ginny frowned in concern.

"Ang, are you going to be all right?"

"I will," she said decisively, although Ginny wasn't convinced. Angelina was shaking, and Ginny doubted that it was from the chilly wind that occasionally blew through the room.

"Wait – do you hear something?" Neville asked, freezing where he stood. The other three stilled their movements and listened.

"I do," Harry said, his eyes lighting up. "I hear footsteps."

"But do you hear one set, or two?" Neville puzzled.

"Two," Harry said positively, turning his eyes back to Neville.

"Harry? Ginny? Neville? Angelina?" Everyone relaxed as Hermione's familiar voice called out their names.

"We're down the hallway," Ginny called back. A moment later, Hermione stepped through the doorway and smiled tiredly at them.

"I take it that everyone arrived in one piece," she said, brushing an errant strand of hair away from her face with the back of her hand. "And now that we're all here, I'd like to introduce everyone to the last recruit." She turned and waited for him to come through the door, and the other four turned their eyes in the same direction.

When the blonde man stepped through the doorway, all hell broke loose.

* * *

The blue lights from the hundreds of candles set around the enormous, stone room cast an eerie glow over their faces. Those who knew him well would say that the Dark Lord had arranged them this way intentionally; he liked to instill fear, even in small doses. Yet the Death Eaters, who were watching with depraved glee as the hooded figure twisted and turned in midair, held there by the Dark Lord's wand, the candles were all but  
forgotten.

"And do you know where these special people have been taken?" he asked in a high-pitched, slightly amused voice.

"No, my Lord. Weasley sent them away just this afternoon." The Death Eaters began laughing as the Dark Lord shouted the incantation that made the figure scream in agony. After a few minutes, a frown appeared on Lord Voldemort's wasted face.

_"Do_ stop crying, I have no patience for tears or the weakness they represent."

"I'm- I'm sorry, my Lord. I will try to find out where they've gone, but my d-"

"Silence!" he hissed and the room grew instantly quiet.

"I see from your feeble mind where your information comes from, and it would serve you well to be more aggressive in your quest for information. Pretend that your life depends on it." His high, cold laughter filled the room, the cue for the Death Eaters to join in.

The figure suddenly stopped spinning and fell with a loud _thud_ onto the floor as Voldemort flicked his wand.

"Not just _your_ life, either. I'll have the heads of your precious family mounted on that wall." He used his wand to point at the decaying wall behind him and the hooded figure began to whimper uncontrollably.

_"Crucio!"_

The death eaters laughed as Voldemort continued to torture the informant. When it appeared that the hooded figure had passed out from the pain, Voldemort turned to one of the loyal servants at his side.

"Do tell me that our other spy is having more luck in finding them?"

* * *

"You _can't_ be serious," Angelina squealed.

"_Malfoy?"_ Ginny gasped, the color draining from her face. She snuck a glance at Harry, who was wearing a stony expression. His lips were so tightly pressed together that they formed a white line. Neville, for the most part, looked surprised but bored. Ginny wondered how any person could manage such a combination of expressions.

"You've gone round the twist, Hermione Granger!" Angelina declared.

"Stop," Hermione said fiercely, holding her hand up to reinforce her command. "I know that you don't get along with him, any of you, but now you're going to have to look past your differences. He's an important part of this team, and we need him to succeed."

Draco lounged back against the crumbling stone wall and looked totally disinterested at the conflict he was causing.

"Look past our differences?" Ginny echoed, her eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "I think it's a little bit more complicated than just _differences,_ Hermione."

"You will all work together as the team you were meant to be, and that's final," Hermione said, raising her voice slightly. "Dumbledore chose him for a reason, and even if no one is sure why, he knows what he's doing!"

"Sometimes I wonder," Neville muttered under his breath. Hermione shot him a severe look, and he averted his eyes.

"Fine. Now that we're all here, we can begin the training. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

"What?" Harry asked, finally turning his attention away from Malfoy. "We just got here, Hermione!"

"Why don't you let us rest for tonight, and we'll work tomorrow?" Ginny begged, her large cinnamon eyes pleading. "I don't know about everyone else, but the spell that brought us here really took a lot out of me."

"I think it's a good idea, too," Angelina offered.

"I don't know," Hermione said uncertainly. "We have so much to cover, and I wanted to get an early start."

"Please, Hermione?" Neville joined in. He knew that they had won when Hermione's shoulders sagged.

"All right, tonight you can have free time. But after tonight, don't expect to have it again anytime soon. We have too much to get done. Follow me, and I'll show you where you'll be staying."

Harry and Neville paired off and began following Hermione, and just behind them, Angelina and Ginny linked arms and began walking. Draco, alone and apparently ostracized by the other four recruits, followed much farther behind at a leisurely pace. Hermione led them outside across an open pathway secured by a parapet, and into another part of the prison. Once inside, she turned to face them.

"To the left are the men's sleeping quarters. You'll find that three rooms have been secured, and in the interest of fairness, your names are all posted on small, non-removable plaques outside the doors. Same with the women – we're off to the right."

"Where's the loo?" Ginny asked.

"Go back the way we just came, but at the fork you'll turn left instead of right, and they'll be directly in front of you."

"You mean we have to walk _outside_ to get to the loos?" Angelina asked, surprised.

"You'll manage, I'm sure," Hermione said warmly, sensing Angelina's unease. "The loo is rather large, but since it's the only one in this wing, everyone will have to share it." She ignored the groans of protest and continued. "I've charmed it to be a bit bigger, but I couldn't make any other modifications due to the wards I had to use, so there's only one shower. We'll come up with a schedule later so everyone knows when they can use it and there aren't any conflicts. Questions?"

"Is there anything like a common room nearby?" Angelina asked tentatively.

"Of course," Hermione said, smiling weakly. "It's a dining area, as well as the room we'll be using for meetings and such. You're to report there every morning at six o'clock precisely."

"Six?" Ginny asked, sighing. "No more sleeping in for me." Harry nudged her gently with his elbow.

"Time to toughen up, Weasley," he teased, his eyes sparkling. "Playing for Holyhead has made you go soft." She rolled her eyes playfully.

"Yes, and owning the Tornadoes made you a badass," she retorted. Harry's jaw dropped momentarily, and then he was guffawing.

"All right, you two," Hermione interjected. "One last thing – meals. For security reasons, we couldn't afford to have any house elves or any other sort of servants. Food is stored in the kitchen, which is in the basement of the building, and you'll have to go down there and serve yourselves."

"What?" Harry asked, his eyes wide behind his round-rimmed glasses. "We have to make our own food?"

"If anyone needs help," Hermione said, ignoring Harry. "Then Harry and I would be more than happy to show you how to work the stove, oven, and microwave."

"What about domestic spells?" Angelina asked hopefully. Hermione shook her head.

"No. No unnecessary magic. And not in the halls, either. You will not use magic at all unless instructed to do so by me."

"Won't the electricity being used here raise some suspicions?" Harry queried, arching an eyebrow.

"I've already thought of that," Hermione said simply. "No, it won't. Certain precautions have been taken to prevent that from happening. Now that you've all been debriefed, welcome to Azkaban." With that, Hermione shot them a weak smile and headed to her room.

* * *

Draco eyed the room he'd been assigned, and almost breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't big, but it was cleaner than his own flat. He reclined on the small bed and closed his eyes. It would be nice to get some sleep in such a quiet place; he was used to his neighbors having music and the telly turned up at all hours of the day and night.

Lying there with the waning light streaming in through the small window, he began to wonder who had occupied his cell before him. Perhaps it was that insane relative of his mother's that he'd heard vaguely about. Or maybe it was one of his father's fellow Death Eaters – or perhaps Lucius himself. In any case, he suddenly found that the skin of his arms had broken out into gooseflesh.

"Malfoy?" a steady voice called from the other side of the door. He sighed. He'd been here less than thirty minutes, and already the idiots were beginning to plague him. He stayed silent, hoping that the voice and the person it belonged to would get the hint and go away.

"I know you're in there, you great bloody pillock. Just let me in already." Draco opened his eyes in annoyance. Obviously the person wasn't going to get the hint – he'd known that Weasleys were thick-headed, but really, this was ridiculous. He sat up and crossed his legs at the ankles.

"If you're so fucking smart, then you know how to open the damned door yourself, Weasel."

The door opened, and Ginny glared at him as she stepped into his room. "I thought that in the interest of being _polite_, I would knock before I just barged in. Then again, I don't suppose that you know what _polite_ means. You never did."

"Really," he drawled, already bored with the conversation. "If you wanted to try your hand at insulting me, you could have just waited and done it tomorrow in front of everyone else. That way when I completely embarrassed you with my own comebacks, I could at least get some gratification from knowing that other people heard me."

"I didn't come here to insult you," she snapped, frowning. "I came here to say that I hope you'll put our differences aside for now and help the team do what we need to get done."

"So it's to be a pep talk, then, is it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "You can tell Granger it didn't work."

"Hermione didn't send me in here," she replied, shaking her head. "She's actually busy talking to Harry right now, so she doesn't even know I'm gone."

"Come for a quick shag with the bad boy while the good boy's back is turned, eh?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement. She pulled a face at him.

"In your wet dreams, maybe," she replied hotly.

"And what makes you think I'd have wet dreams about you?" he snarled, his lip curled. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"I can see now that this was the stupidest idea I've ever had," she said, her chest heaving with angry breaths.

"You know, I think that that's the most intelligent thing that's ever come out of your Muggle-loving mouth," he observed coldly. "So now that you realize the error of your ways, why don't you leave?"

"Why don't you _make_ me?" Ginny snapped, her hands flying to her hips. Draco felt the irritation welling up inside of him, making him feel as though he might implode from it. This was the last thing he needed.

* * *

Hermione had barely slipped into her old flannel pyjamas when the door to her room burst open.

"Oh – sorry," Harry said, pretending to avert his eyes modestly. She frowned and turned to face him, forcing a smile.

"It's all right, Harry. Did you need something?" Harry shut the door behind him and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes, actually. I'd like to know exactly why in the hell you saw fit to put me and that arse under the same roof together."

"_I_ didn't do it," she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "_Why_ doesn't anyone understand that? I didn't choose the recruits – Dumbledore did! And don't think that you're the only one who's questioned his judgment in this case!"

"Can't we trade him for someone else?"

"No, Harry, we can't. I know I can't expect much from him in the way of behavior, but I did at least hope that _you'd_ be an adult about this." Harry narrowed his eyes at her and studied her for a moment.

"He's being paid for this," he said flatly. She blinked, and then nodded, turning her eyes away from him.

"In not so many words, yes."

"Why was he offered compensation, when no one else was?"

"Because it was the only way we could get him to say yes, and Dumbledore wanted him, so we did it."

"You did it, you mean."

"Yes," she said, swallowing with difficulty. "I did it."

"What exactly are you giving him?"

"His home and his father's money."

"_What?"_ Harry's arms dropped and his eyes flashed. "Hermione, those things were taken away because of his father – you can't just give them back!"

"It was the only way," she said miserably, sitting down on her bed and dropping her face into her hands. "We needed him, and I did what I had to do."

"Can you even get those things back for him?" Harry asked curiously. Hermione peered up at him, misery etched on her face.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I asked Ron to talk to his father about it, and he said he would – but Arthur isn't supposed to know anything about this project."

"Why not?" Harry asked, sitting beside her.

"Safety precaution. If we're found out or if something goes wrong, Ron and I will take full responsibility for everything. It's a way to protect Arthur."

Harry stared at her intently for several minutes. Then, "You aren't sure if Ron spoke to his Dad about it, are you?"

"I really wish you'd quit doing that," she said acidly. "No, I'm not sure. There, now you know everything."

"If Ron said he'd do it, he'll do it, Hermione," Harry reassured her. Her shoulders sagged.

"I know – I know you're right. I just can't help but wonder – he was so opposed to it, Harry."

"Try to put it out of your mind for right now, love," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "We've got bigger things to worry about."

"You're right again," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Do you think I was too harsh on everyone out there?"

"Not at all," he said, squeezing her shoulder gently. "You're a leader now, Hermione, and you have to be tough to get the job done. I think you're doing just fine."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Now I think I'm going to go and find Ginny – I want to ask her about that Muggle tattoo," he said, a grin splitting his face. Hermione smiled back.

"Mind if I come with you? I'm rather curious about it myself."

"Not at all," he said, rising from her bed. He gestured grandiosely towards the door. "After you."

* * *

"Look, littlest Weasel-" His hands were clasped behind his head and he had closed his eyes out of frustration. "There's only one reason I allow women into my room, and if that's not the reason you're here, then just piss off already."

Ginny continued to stare at him, her hands firmly on her hips. Having six older brothers had taught her nothing if not how to get what she wanted.

"Fine." He was off the bed in a flash, and standing just inches away from her. "Is this what you want?" He was so close Ginny could feel his chest heaving next to hers.

"You don't intimidate me, Malfoy. You never did," She said harshly, taking a step backwards.

"Then why are you trying to get away?" He placed a bony hand on her shoulder just as the door to his room opened.

"What the fuck is going on here, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes moved from Ginny flattened against the wall to Malfoy's hand on her shoulder, and a noise that sounded like a growl rose up from his throat.

"Calm yourself, Scarhead. Weasel here was just leaving, weren't you?" He turned back to Ginny and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Ginny, what _are_ you doing in here?" Hermione appeared from behind Harry and her eyes widened as she took in the scene.

"I _was _trying to extend an olive branch to the ferret-" Now it was Draco's turn to growl. "But he's flatly refused it." She moved away from him and stood next to Hermione and Harry.

"You call that an olive branch? Perhaps if you had removed your knickers at least..." Draco began to laugh, and didn't notice as Harry lunged at him.

**_To be continued..._**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Neville and Angelina had come running when they heard the shouting, and it was a good thing they had, too. There was no way Ginny and Hermione could have pulled the brawling men away from each other, strong as they were.

The rage that had been building for fifteen years had finally been unleashed in a series of blows that left them both bloody and bruised.

When Neville had finally pulled them away from each other, Harry's left eye was already purpled and bruising, and Draco's lower lip had been busted wide open. Hermione simply stood above them, her hands hanging limply at her sides, at a total loss as to what to say or do next. Neville and Angelina helped Harry up off of the floor, but Draco made no move to get up.

He sat on the floor, grinning madly as he swiped at his bloody lip.

"Come on Hermione, we should go." Ginny, still shocked at what had just transpired, tugged on the other girl's arm until they were safely away from Draco's room.

"I just can't believe that Harry did that!" Hermione was shaking her head as Ginny led her into her room and shut the door behind them.

"You can't? Then you don't know him nearly as well as you think you do." Hermione shot her a wary glance before falling back onto the bed.

"What am I supposed to do?" she wailed. "How can I teach them _anything_ if we're constantly having to pry them off of each other?"

"You're just going to have to put your foot down, is all," Ginny said, frowning. If Hermione was going to fall apart at the first sign of conflict, then perhaps she wasn't ready to be in the position she was in.

Hermione sat up on the bed, her eyes wide. "Do you think either of them needs medical attention?"

"I think Harry's black eye will heal all right, but Malfoy's lip might need some attention." She rubbed her eyes then, and Hermione could tell she was tired. She needed an excuse to get Ginny out of her room, and sleep was the perfect pretext.

"You'd better get to bed - you have no idea how much work we have to do tomorrow."

"Knowing you, I'm sure I don't." She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Don't worry - I'm sure you'll think of some way to get them to leave each other alone." She smiled weakly and shut the door behind her.

"If I can't, Ron will," she murmured quietly to the closed door. She reclined on her bed and closed her eyes, but images of Malfoy's bloody lip and Harry's black eye plagued her. What was she going to do if they insisted on fighting every chance they got? She wasn't sure she could handle it.

Neville sat near the hearth, wrapping ice cubes in a soft, white cloth. When he had finished, he handed it to Harry, who pressed it gently to his purpling eye. He groaned and reclined in the chair he occupied, while Neville shook his head.

"Really, I don't know how anyone can put the two of you together and expect you_ not_ to fight," Neville commented, rising and stoking the fire.

"Yes, but who'd have thought that they'd be fighting over _Ginny?"_ Angelina asked, her cheeks rosy from the heat in the room. Harry narrowed his good eye at her.

"We _weren't_ fighting over Gin," he denied. "Malfoy has absolutely no interest in her, so don't be fooled into thinking that."

"He might have interest in her if he thinks you do," Neville said quietly. Harry turned to look at him.

"And who says I do?"

"Not me," Neville replied, turning back to the fire to hide a grin. Angelina exhaled loudly.

"No need to go getting so upset about it, Harry," she chastised. "We all know what a git Malfoy is, so you shouldn't let him provoke you, no matter what it's over."

"I'll remind you that you said that when you're fighting with him," Harry promised, frowning.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, momentarily distracting Harry from his line of thought. He sat up, letting the ice pack fall from his face, and Ginny winced.

"That looks bloody awful," she remarked, pulling a face. Harry looked stung, but only for a moment.

"Is Hermione very angry?" he asked, his eyes following her closely as she moved towards the hearth where Neville stood. She stuck her hands out to warm them.

"No, I wouldn't say she's _angry,"_ Ginny said, shaking her head. "I'd say she's more _frustrated_ and _hurt_ than angry." Harry sighed.

"I suppose she's blaming me, is she?"

"Well, she wouldn't exactly be wrong if she did, would she?" Harry bristled at her.

"And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means just what it sounds like it means, Harry," Ginny said, turning to face him. Her hands found purchase on her hips as she spoke. "You're not fooling anyone here. As much as we all love you – and we _do,_ make no mistake about that – we all know about your temper and your lack of control over it."

Harry stood up and glared at her. "You don't know _anything_ about me anymore, so don't pretend that you do!"

"How can we _not_ know about you, when you're constantly being splattered across the front page of any newspaper or magazine that happens to be around you when you pitch one of your fits?" she demanded, her expression hardening.

"_Pitch one of my fits?"_ Harry echoed incredulously. Neville and Angelina exchanged wary glances.

"I think I'm going to go to bed now," Angelina said softly, backing out of the room slowly. Neville hurried to her side.

"I'm right behind you."

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Harry snapped, his cheeks scarlet.

"Well, _someone's_ got to! Merlin knows that _you_ ignore it, but I'm telling you right now, Harry, _I'm_ not going to stand for any outbursts from you while I'm here!"

Harry simply stared at her, unable to find his voice. Her chest was heaving, her eyes were sparkling, and her hair was fairly crackling with electricity. She looked like a madwoman; like an escapee from St. Mungo's.

None of his conquests had ever evoked the strange feeling that was beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach. It was like hunger; the most incredibly hungry feeling he'd ever had. It was primitive, he thought – and with it, it brought the same sort of rush he experienced when he got angry. The rush that was addictive, and _kept_ him getting angry, because the angrier he got, the more of a rush he got.

It was curious, and it was entirely worth exploring further.

* * *

Hermione waited until she was certain everyone had gone to sleep before leaping out of bed. The fight would be recorded in her official log, of course; but that wouldn't help her now. She had to talk to someone.

She grabbed her cloak (the hallways were frightfully chilly) before descending the hallway to the common area - the only room that hadn't been charmed to death, and where she could indulge her fretting to her heart's content. If she was careful enough, the recruits would never know anything about her late night stroll. She had forbidden them to use magic, and now, here she was, breaking her own rule. She hated that.

She had been right to bring her cloak, she thought, as she drew it more tightly around her shoulders. She shivered as the breeze splashed at her bare legs. At least, she _told_ herself that that was what was making her shiver. The whole place was just creepy. She walked along the gray hallway, taking extra care not to let her steps echo against the decaying stone, and imagined the conversation that was about to take place.

He couldn't possible be angry with _her,_ could he? Ron, of all people, knew the repercussions of putting together two people who loathed one another as much as Harry and Malfoy did - for _any_ amount of time. Granted, she hadn't expected the fighting to occur so soon after their arrival, but that mattered little after the fact. No, she decided as she shut the door to the common area behind her, he couldn't be angry with her. What could she have done to prevent Harry's temper? Or Malfoy's provocations?

She glanced behind her several times before finally pulling the small pouch from her pocket and extracting some of the powder.

_Will he be home, or at the office?_ She knew it was after midnight, but Ron had spent many a night hunched over his desk at this late hour. Nodding, she threw some of the powder into the fire and said in as loud a voice as she dared:

"Ministry of Magic. Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Ron Weasley's office."

She took a deep breath, and stuck her head into the bright emerald green flames that had sprung to life. Almost immediately she felt the wind being sucked out of her lungs as a whirlwind of smoky images flew past her. She righted herself, grimacing against the dirt she imagined was caked to her head, and craned her neck to see if Ron was at his desk.

_Of bloody course._

"Hello, kitten," Pansy said in the ultra sweet tone that always made Hermione want to gag. Her legs were propped up on Ron's messy desk and crossed at the ankle. From her position in the fire, Hermione could see the woman's knickers. _Trollop!_

"Where is he?"

"Problems already? Tsk, tsk."

"I don't have time for your stupid games, Pansy. Where is he?" Pansy smiled.

"Do you know, now that I've got a good view of it, I'd say that your head _is_ rather on the large side." She pretended to squint at Hermione, then grinned and clasped her hands behind her head.

"I could say the same thing about your knickers, you tart! Now where is he?" Pansy looked slightly embarrassed as she eased her feet back onto the floor.

"I was under the impression that you weren't to have any contact with anyone once you set off for- where was it again?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's entirely _none_ of your business where we are, and I'll have contact with anyone I choose. And if you don't tell me where he is, I'll wake up half the department and let them know there's an intruder in this office!"

"You really are zero fun, Granger."

"And you really are a royal pain in my arse, Parkinson!"

"What's the matter? Wonder Boy not performing up to snuff? Or is it the lush who's causing problems?"

"I realize this is all quite amusing for you, but for the love of Merlin, _where is Ron?"_

"Calm yourself, or that bushy head of yours might just explode. Now-" She flipped her hair over her shoulder and examined her fingernails. "You were put in charge, were you not?"

If it weren't for the fact that her body was thousands of miles away, Hermione was sure she would have taken a leaf out of Harry's book and hauled off on the bint.

"Yes." _Snap!_

"So, what could be of such dire importance that you would need to bother my boss about it?"

Hermione bit her lip. A saucy Pansy, Hermione could handle. A Pansy who was right was an entirely different story.

"Just tell Ron to get in touch when he can."

"Absolutely."

Pansy waited until Hermione' head had disappeared and the green flames has returned to their normal tinges of red and orange, and then she grinned. "Whenever I can get around to remembering it, that is."

"What's going on?" Ron asked as he strode into the room. Pansy straightened up in her chair and shot him a saccharine-sweet smile. "Who were you just talking to?"

"Just my Mum," Pansy said, the lie rolling smoothly off of her tongue. "She wanted to check on her baby."

Ron arched a strawberry-colored eyebrow at her. "You must be close to her – you two sure talk a lot."

"Precious," she purred. "You have _no_ idea."

* * *

When Ginny opened her eyes, she was greeted with total darkness. She blinked in confusion, wondering what had awoken her to begin with. She lay there in the dark, listening intently to the sounds of the room. A Muggle clock was ticking, and it sounded like somewhere water was dripping. Other than that, she heard nothing. She closed her eyes and just as she was drifting back to sleep, a loud noise sounded, startling her so badly that she tumbled out of her bed.

"What in Merlin's name…?" she wondered out loud, gently rubbing her skinned elbow. The concrete floor of the cell – er, room – didn't lend well to clumsiness. She'd definitely have to ask Hermione if they could charm carpet or something to appear in her room.

She changed out of her pyjamas and into a pair of worn jeans, and then pulled an old sweatshirt over her head. She brushed her hair back into a ponytail, and then stumbled out into the hallway, feeling her way down to the common area.

When she arrived, there was a fire burning high and hot in the hearth, and Hermione and Angelina were the only other people in the room. Angelina looked entirely put-out, while Hermione looked as fresh as a daisy.

Hermione raised her wand and moved it in a circle, whispering something that Ginny couldn't hear. The alarm sounded again, and Ginny covered her ears.

"Do you _have_ to do that?" she demanded. Hermione gave her an enigmatic look and shrugged.

"I suppose I don't _have_ to, but after this I'd wager that they'll be up when I've told them to be." Despite her tired, agitated state, Angelina snorted with laughter. Ginny gave up and shot a smile at both of them.

Moments later, Harry and Neville stumbled out into the open space. Angelina had to bite back a giggle; Ginny didn't bother hiding hers. Harry's viridian eyes were cloudy behind his haphazardly worn glasses, and his black hair was sticking straight up. Neville, on the other hand, looked well groomed – except for the puffiness around his eyes.

"Four down, one to go," Hermione muttered, slipping her wand back inside of her thick cloak. "You guys, stay put. I'll be right back – I'm going to go and give his royal highness his morning wake-up call." She turned on her heel and stormed down the hallway.

When she reached Draco's room, she knocked loudly, pounding her fist against the door. There was no answer. She pulled her wand out and held it at the ready. "Malfoy, you'd better open this door, or I'm going to come in and get you."

No answer.

_Oh, for Merlin's sake!_ She huffed loudly, turned the doorknob, and realized with sudden and frightening certainty that she was in no way prepared to witness the scene that lay in front of her.

Draco Malfoy was sleeping soundly on the narrow cot, completely naked.

"Oh, my God." She averted her eyes and turned her back to him before waving the wand overhead again. The alarm sounded for the fourth time that morning, and Draco opened his eyes lazily.

"Just couldn't wait to get me naked and alone, could you, Granger?" he drawled, his voice full of distaste.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Just get up, we've got a lot to do," she said over her shoulder, missing the smirk that had appeared on Draco's face.

"It's far too early to function. Besides-" He yawned loudly and stretched his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Hermione. "I can't even move without coffee."

"I would like to remind you that our little deal is contingent on you performing up to the standards I set forth in that parchment I gave you. No work, no fancy house and no money, _Draco."_ Her back was still turned, but the image of his pale, thin body sprawled on the bed had burned itself into her memory, and she hated the blush that began to creep up her neck.

"Standards?" he asked lazily, rising from the bed as slowly as humanly possible. "I don't recall seeing any standards."

"Perhaps if you'd actually _read_ the contract, you might have," she answered back waspishly.

"Contract?" he asked, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. "I never signed any contract, Mudblood."

"Insubordination, Malfoy," she snapped. "You didn't have to sign it; the contract was enabled the moment you let us mark you. You're a part of the team now, and in order for you to get what you want, you have to give me what I want."

"Why, you dirty, double-crossing little-" Hermione turned and smiled wickedly, forcing herself to ignore his naked state.

"I know," she said, her voice laced with satisfaction. "Very _Slytherin_ of me, wasn't it? And how very _Gryffindor_ of you, to just ignore what I'd given you, and trust what it said."

Their eyes were locked and neither could tell if the other was ready to pounce or not, but they were both red faced when the door creaked open and Ginny's head appeared. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw Draco standing defiantly naked and Hermione's hands placed firmly on her hips.

"What the-"

"You see, you smarmy bastard? You can continue with your jilted princely attitude, walk around naked, hate everyone, and nobody cares!" Hermione nodded toward Ginny, who made a funny sound and gave Hermione a look that clearly said she most certainly _did_ care if people walked around naked.

"I just –" Ginny took a deep breath and swallowed. "I just came to check on you, but now that I see that you're both all right-" her voice died and she stared openly at Malfoy, whose cheeks began to flush slightly pink.

"We're fine, Ginny," Hermione said, turning to the redhead. Ginny's eyes flew up to meet Hermione's.

"I wasn't-"

Hermione held her hand up. "I don't care if you were or not. Just go back and wait for us – we'll be out momentarily."

Ginny continued to stare at Hermione, but the older girl arched her eyebrow. Finally, after a few tense seconds, she shrugged her shoulders and left the room. Hermione turned back to Malfoy.

"We can help each other, you know. It doesn't have to be like this."

"Like what?"

"Behaving as though the world _hasn't_ turned upside down since we were in school and had full rights to hate one another."

"I will _always_ hate you, Granger. You and Potter and the rest of the bloody world that loves him!"

"If you were as smart as you pretend to be, you'd realize that this is your opportunity to change people's minds about you - and what you're capable of accomplishing. I can't imagine wallowing in my _dead_ father's memory for the rest of my life. Especially considering how his life _ended." _

"Never mention my father again, and I'll cooperate," he hissed, taking one long stride toward her. "But if you ever mention him again - or any other member of my family, for that matter - I'll kill you myself."

"Don't threaten me," she warned, her eyes narrowing to slits. "I don't take well to threats. In my world – and believe me, Malfoy, you _are_ in my world, now – when you want things, you don't demand. You _ask._ I don't care how dangerous you think you are; for all intents and purposes, as of right now, consider yourself neutered."

"Neutered?" he laughed harshly. "If it weren't for the fact that I'm extremely pissed off, I might find that amusing. I ask for nothing, you stupid bint. I take what I want, when I want it."

"Funny," she commented, her finger tapping her chin. "I suppose you didn't actually _want_ your home and money back, then, did you? Since you didn't just _take_ them back, I mean."

"You'd shut your bloody mouth, if you knew what was good for you," he threatened.

"And you'd shut yours, if you knew what was good for _you_," she hissed. "I am tired of your games, Malfoy, and I refuse to play them. Like it or not, you're here. You've agreed to a contract, and your arse is mine for as long as I need it, so get your pants on, and get out there with the rest of the recruits!" Without waiting for an answer, and without thinking twice about what she'd just said, Hermione stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind her.

Hermione made her way down the hallway and back into the common area, where Harry had fallen asleep on the couch. Ginny was standing near the fire, her cheeks rosy from the heat, and Neville and Angelina were sitting on the floor, talking quietly.

"So?" Ginny asked, turning to her friend. "Is he fully clothed yet?" Neville and Angelina's quiet whispers stopped, and they both turned full attention to Hermione.

"Fully clothed?" Angelina repeated uncertainly.

"You _don't_ want to know," Hermione reassured her, shaking her head. "He'll be out in a minute. Who wants to wake Harry up?"

After a moment of dead silence, Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'll do it." She moved towards the couch, and then reached down to shake Harry gently. "Wake up, you lazy sod."

"That's offensive," he muttered, cracking open the eye that wasn't bruised. Ginny gave him a lopsided grin.

"You'll live, I'm sure. It's time to get up."

"Is the bastard out here yet?"

"Nope, but Hermione assures me that he's coming."

"Wake me when he gets here." He closed his eye again. Ginny frowned at him.

"You know," she said, turning to look at Hermione. "You haven't really seen everything there is to see, until you've seen Draco Malfoy naked." She didn't see Harry's eyes flying wide open as she made her way towards Hermione, who was looking both amused and extremely embarrassed.

"While disturbing, this is true," Hermione conceded calmly. Harry sat up and stared at the pair of women.

"I mean, I always wondered what all the talk was about, but now I suppose I've seen for myself, haven't I?"

"Indeed."

"You're both taking the mickey out of me," Harry declared finally, standing up. Ginny turned towards him, as though surprised that he was awake.

"Are we?" she asked casually. It was that moment that Draco chose to enter the room, swaggering in as though he owned the entire building and everything in it. Harry glared at him. "Malfoy, Good morning," Ginny purred.

Hermione relished the look of surprise that Malfoy was wearing as Ginny smiled at him.

"Thank you for the little show you gave us this morning," she began. "Could you please tell Harry that I'm not making it up?"

The feral grin that split Malfoy's face made Hermione both strangely excited and sick. "Why, of course, Weasley. _Anything_ for you – especially after what we shared last night." Hermione bit her lip at Ginny's expression. _So this is how it begins. One begins the game, and the other joins in unexpectedly._

"Weasley and Granger decided this morning that they wanted a little peep show – so I obliged them."

Harry lunged forward. "Why you dirty son of a-"

"Hey!" Neville shouted, jumping in front of Harry. "Haven't we had just about enough of this already?"

Draco and Harry were glaring intently at each other. Hermione figured that this was as good a time as any to get them working, and perhaps use their energy to her advantage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"All right," Hermione said, holding her hands up. "Enough of this. Let's all go and get something to eat, and then we can begin the training."

"I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not hungry," Ginny said, folding her arms across her chest and ignoring the angry look she was getting from Harry.

"Coffee," Draco said calmly, mirroring Ginny's stance. "I want coffee before we do anything."

"Well then, help yourself," Hermione said, gesturing towards the door that led outside to the walkway. Draco shrugged and exited the room, intent on getting what he wanted. Harry frowned at Hermione as he pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Is this what it's going to be like every morning?" he asked, annoyed. "Because I don't particularly fancy a fight to start my day off."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "You're only fighting because you're both participating," she said. "It's not all his fault."

"He started it," Harry began. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Actually, Harry, I started it. You wouldn't get up, remember?"

"Yes, well…" Harry deflated, his argument stopped. "I suppose."

"So as soon as his royal highness gets back, we're going to start training, right?" Angelina asked. Hermione smiled at her.

"Yes, we are. And I hope we're all ready for it."

"I'm sure we are," Harry sniffled, flopping back down on the couch. Neville shot him an amused look.

"Speak for yourself," he said. "Unlike the rest of you, I haven't had much exercise in the last few years. I'm what you'd call soft."

"You'll acclimate soon enough, I expect," Hermione reassured him. "We're going to start off slow before we get too intense."

"Slow? As in, exactly _how_ slow?" Ginny asked cautiously. Before Hermione could answer, though, Angelina wrinkled her nose.

"Does anyone else smell that? It smells like something's burning." Hermione and Ginny exchanged worried looks before rushing out across the walkway and heading towards the staircase. Harry and Neville jumped up and sprinted behind them, with Angelina nipping at their heels.

Hermione flew down the stairs, taking two at a time. She passed Ginny and ran ahead, reaching the kitchen first. As soon as she pushed the door open, a cloud of black smoke surrounded her. She coughed as she accidentally inhaled the smoke.

_"Evanesco!"_ she shouted, pointing her wand at the smoke. Immediately the air cleared, and the sight of Draco lying unconscious on the floor greeted her. She felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs along with the smoke.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, appearing at the doorway. She bent over and put her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. Hermione didn't answer; she was sitting next to Draco with her fingers pressed to his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, panting. Hermione didn't look up.

"I'm checking his pulse to make sure he's still alive," she snapped distractedly.

"Why?" Harry muttered under his breath. Neville sighed.

"Is he all right?" Ginny asked breathlessly, causing Harry to turn and shoot a dark look at her.

"His pulse is accelerated," she said, deep frown lines creasing her forehead. "But the most important thing is that he's still _got_ a pulse. Can anyone see what caused the smoke?"

"Looks like the coffee pot," Angelina said, nodding towards the offending appliance. Hermione turned and glanced at it, wincing at the blackened counter beneath it.

"It looks like there was a fire," Ginny said, confusion heavy in her voice. "Can making coffee the Muggle way cause a fire?"

"Making anything the Muggle way can cause a fire," Harry said, clearly amused. Hermione arched an eyebrow at him but remained silent. She stood and pointed her wand at Draco's motionless body.

_"Mobilicorpus,"_ she murmured. Draco's body lifted into the air, and the recruits followed her as she levitated him all the way back to the common area.

"The four of you wait here for me," she said quietly. "I'm going to take him back to his room, and then I'll be right back. There are some things we should probably discuss."

When she was gone from sight, Harry turned to Neville. "I don't think I like the sound of that. Do you?"

"She hasn't made eye contact with me all morning, so I'm not certain – but if I had to answer based on the tone of her voice and her facial expression, then no, it didn't sound good."

She was silent when she returned and barely looked at anyone as she motioned for them to follow her. She gestured to the couch and chairs and waited for them to sit down before she spoke.

"I was really hoping that we were all mature enough that this conversation wouldn't be necessary, but after last night's events-" Her eyes flashed in Harry's direction, who immediately turned red- "I see that obviously, it _is."_

"Hermione-" Neville started to speak, but Hermione raised her hand to quiet him. He clamped his mouth shut.

"I think it's imperative that we put things into perspective. Everyone who's lost someone at the hands of Voldemort or one of his Death Eaters, raise your hand."

One by one, each person slowly raised a hand into the air. Hermione nodded grimly. "Malfoy is no different. He's lost family and friends, as well. If I had to guess, I'd say that that was probably why Dumbledore chose each of you." She paused and watched their faces soften with defeat. "Do you see now that we're all working towards a common goal? Fighting between ourselves is the worst thing we could do right now. It absolutely ensures failure."

"But I can't just sit back and ignore him if he provokes me," Harry protested desperately. Ginny frowned, but said nothing.

"You can, and you _must,"_ Hermione said firmly. "I don't think he wants to fight any more than you do, Harry, and he's only been answering the challenges you've laid down for him."

"He doesn't _need_ a reason to fight," Angelina denied, shaking her head at Hermione. "And you know that just as well as we do."

"He thrives on his ability to cause pain to the people around him," Neville agreed, his expression clouding over.

"Are you two talking about the man who's here with us right now, or the boy you went to school with?"

"People might change over time, Hermione, but no one is capable of changing _that_ much after only a few years," Angelina said in a strong voice, still unconvinced. Neville was nodding in agreement.

"So when Fred died, it didn't affect you that much? And when those bastards killed your parents, you didn't change, Neville?" It was a low blow, and Hermione knew it even before the words left her lips, but she had to make them see. She ignored the angry looks that she imagined Ginny and Harry were shooting at her, and focused her attention on the other two.

"That's not fair," Angelina cried, her face crumpling in grief. "I actually _cared_ about Fred!"

"And Malfoy isn't allowed to care about his parents, is that it?"

"Hermione, don't you think this has gone on long enough?" Harry interrupted, his eyes hard and cold. "You're not going to convince any of us, no matter what you say, and there's no use in putting Angelina or Neville through the wringer for it."

"We all want the destruction of Voldemort and the Death Eaters," Ginny added, her cheeks rosy in her heightened emotional state. "But that's no reason to force everyone to relive the pain. We get it, we all have stuff in common, and we all have a common goal."

Hermione stared shrewdly at her. "Oh, but I think it _is_ necessary. You've all convinced yourself that Malfoy is less than human, just because he's an arrogant, self-serving arse, and it isn't so."

"Look, we all know your need to have everyone treated equally-" Harry began, thinking of S.P.E.W. "But Malfoy is different. He doesn't return the equal treatment, and besides, he doesn't _deserve_ it."

"Every human being deserves it."

"Even Voldemort?" Angelina blurted. "Are you going to ask the Ministry to give him humane treatment when this is all over?" Hermione blanched.

"He's not human, and Draco Malfoy is _not_ Voldemort. He's never even served him."

"We don't know that for sure. At the trial, Fudge seemed certain-" Hermione's sudden and unexpected laughter filled the room and echoed eerily off of the stone walls. Ginny's eyes widened in shock.

_"Fudge_ is your credible source, Harry? _Fudge,_ who did everything in his power to discredit you and Dumbledore? _Fudge,_ who denied Voldemort's return for a _year,_ allowing him to gain more support? _Fudge?"_

Harry's hands went up to his sides in an "I call it like I see it" pose.

"He's not his father! No one - not you Harry, not Ron, not even _me_ - could ever prove he had anything to do with Voldemort, and you know it!" Her eyes narrowed in anger as she swept past each of them in turn. "_All _of you!" Neville cleared his throat.

"I'm not trying to change the subject, or anything-" he smiled weakly when Hermione shot daggers at him for interrupting. "But I have some questions, and I think that if we're to put our differences aside, then we deserve some answers."

"If you're going to ask why Dumbledore chose him-" Hermione started, visibly exasperated.

"No, I think you're right in your estimation about why he chose all of us, Malfoy included. Merlin knows he's a determined son of a bitch," Neville replied. Harry laughed out loud, and some of the tension seemed to ease out of the room. Neville gave his friend a crooked smile before continuing. "I'm talking about why we're here in the first place. I came here, no questions asked, but now I'd like to know exactly why and what's expected of me - of all of us." The others seemed to forget Draco entirely and turned to Hermione with looks of expectation.

"Before I answer anything, I want your word- all of you," she said, her eyes flicking past each of them in turn. "That you'll not provoke him, or anyone else; that each of you will remember why we're here and stop acting like five year olds."

Ginny nodded her head, as did Neville and Angelina. Harry, who hadn't made eye contact with anyone since the beginning of Hermione's speech, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally until he looked up and saw Hermione glaring daggers at him. He rolled his eyes and jutted his chin in response; a gesture that only Ron or Hermione would have interpreted as acquiescence.

"Are you satisfied that we'll all be on our best behavior?" Neville asked.

"Yes." Hermione's shoulders dropped and the hard lines that had been drawn on her face moments before were suddenly erased; her whole body seemed to relax as she swiped her hand past the spot on her hip where she'd been marked. Ginny noticed her movement and started to ask about it, but at that moment Hermione leapt to her feet.

"All right. I'm going to go get _Draco_." Her effort at setting a good example, calling him by his given name instead of his surname, "And when we're all here, I'll answer some of your questions. Keep in mind that there are elements that are on a need to know basis, and at this early stage, you don't need to know all of them yet." She glanced at her watch, irritated at the late hour. _My whole schedule is off now!_

Hermione turned and headed down the hallway towards Malfoy's room, ignoring the furious whispers that erupted behind her as soon as her friends believed her to be out of hearing range. When she was standing in front of Malfoy's door, she squared her shoulders resolutely and tapped on the door.

"Malfoy? Are you awake yet?"

"I should think you'd know how to operate a doorknob, since you're so very smart," came the reply. She rolled her eyes and ground her teeth together before forcing a neutral expression and opening the door.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Define better," he challenged from his spot on the bed.

"You seem fine to me," she muttered, folding her arms over her chest. "I'd like you to join us in the common area – there are some things that we need to go over."

"So one mishap with a Muggle appliance earns me a talk from you?" he sneered.

"No," she denied, feeling the stirrings of her temper again. "Everyone else has questions that they'd like answered, and I thought that you might like to be present so you could hear the answers, too."

"Unless you're going to tell me that you've decided to stock the kitchen with hard liquor, don't bother." Hermione sighed. She sat down in a chair opposite the bed and stared at Draco.

"What?" She was just a few feet away from him, her head in her hands, and he practically recoiled from her nearness. She cleared her throat.

"I'm not going to pretend that we're friends. We aren't - never have been, never will be - I know that." The sincerity in her voice was something he'd never heard directed at him before, and it caught him off guard. "But dammit, I really need all of you to work together on this. The others have assured me that they'll wipe the slate clean and act appropriately. I need the same commitment from you, Draco." As surprised as he was just seconds earlier, the sound of his name falling from her lips had a new effect. He couldn't place it.

"You _know_ why I'm here. You give me what I want, I'll give you what you want. Malfoys are a lot of things, but we aren't liars."

"Will you try to get along with Harry and everyone else?"

"No," he said simply, narrowing his eyes at her. "Why should I?"

"They've all agreed to be civil and try to get along with you," she said, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Yes, well, I imagine they'd say just about anything to stop your nagging," he remarked coolly. "But turn your eyes away for any amount of time, and you can forget their promise."

"They wouldn't do that."

He shrugged. "Believe what you want to."

"You're forgetting their Gryffindor sense of loyalty," she pointed out.

"Apparently _you're_ forgetting that I'm not a Gryffindor, and _I'm _the one whose head is on the proverbial chopping block."

"They're not going to do anything with me around."

"You won't always be around."

"Fine, don't be friends with them!" she spat, exasperated. "Can you at least ignore them?"

"I promise nothing."

It was all she could ask for.

Draco rose and followed her wordlessly to the common area, where the whispers hushed as soon as he appeared behind her. Hermione sighed and watched him walk to the back wall and lounge against it, and the rest of the recruits remained silent. She cleared her throat.

"Okay," she sighed again. "Neville, you asked what was expected of all of you. I'm not sure that I can tell you exactly what you want to hear, but I'll tell you as much as I can. You've all been hand-selected for this project. Again, I don't know specifically why, but I can tell you that our main objective is to clear a path to Voldemort. The way Ron and I saw it, Voldemort is only as strong as his followers. We take them out, we have a clear shot at him." Angelina flinched slightly.

"And how are we to perform this miraculous feat?" Neville asked curiously. "Because you understand that it _will_ take a miracle to find the scattered followers, right?"

"It won't take a miracle," Hermione denied, saying nothing more on that topic. "But you have to be ready when you face them, so you've been brought here to be trained in a number of areas."

"What areas?" Ginny asked.

"Spells, Potions, Flying, and-" she hesitated for a moment, and her eyes flickered towards Malfoy, who was examining his nails intently. "Muggle defensive strategies." Malfoy didn't move.

"What?" Neville asked, surprised. "What Muggle training could help us against Voldemort?"

"Martial Arts," she said quietly. "And firearms." Harry's jaw dropped and he stared at her, utter disbelief etched across his features.

_"Firearms?_ You mean _guns?_ Against _Wizards?"_

"Yes, Harry," she said patiently. "You know as well as I do that it will be unexpected, to say the least. Spells and potions they'll know how to counter against, but guns? We have an element of surprise there. And besides that, how many pure-blooded Wizards do you know who bother to meddle in the Muggle world to examine its weaponry, especially when they think Muggles are inferior to them in every way imaginable?"

"She has a point," Angelina murmured.

"Fine, so we know basically what methods you're training us in," Ginny said, gesturing impatiently with her hands. "Now I have a question. Why did you mark all of us, and why with the symbols we got?"

"I had nothing to do with the choice of symbols," Hermione explained. "The quill was enchanted to mark each of you, and it chose the symbols and the location of each of your marks, based on the personality characteristics it sensed in each of you."

"So that thing was able to look inside of us somehow?"

"Basically, yes," Hermione affirmed, nodding. "The marks were a joint decision by Ron and myself. They aren't just regular Wizarding tattoos, and they're definitely not just Muggle tattoos." Harry turned and glanced at Ginny, whose cheeks turned pink. "They're very special. Not only can we use them for undetectable transportation, we can also use them to communicate with each other, if need be."

"Whoa," Harry said, holding a hand up to quiet Hermione. "Undetectable transportation? What do you mean by that?"

"She means exactly what she says," Draco spoke up, his eyes still on his nails. Every pair of eyes in the room focused on him. "The marks serve as a permanent portkey." Hermione fought down the surprise that wanted to manifest itself in her expression, and simply nodded instead.

"He's exactly right. The marks are permanent portkeys, and if they're magically examined, will appear as nothing more than a common magical tattoo."

"And how do we communicate with them?" Ginny asked.

"We're going to have several training sessions on the use of the marks, so I won't answer that now. Any other questions?"

"Why are we trying to clear a path to Voldemort, instead of just going after the bastard straight away?" Angelina asked when everyone remained silent.

Hermione locked eyes with Harry. She raised her eyebrows - a silent question that she knew his Legilimency would uncover. He looked around the room at all of them, his eyes stopping on Draco. He shook his head 'no'. While Neville appeared to know what was going on, Angelina and Ginny both had expressions of deep confusion etched on their faces as they looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione.

Hermione sighed loudly, shaking her head at Harry. Finally after a few tense seconds, he cleared his throat.

"Because of me."

"Because of you?" Angelina echoed. "Why in the world would they hold up an attack on him because of _you?"_

"I suppose since no one else knows about this and we're supposed to be such a close group, I may as well tell you," Harry said, his voice wavering slightly. "There's a prophecy that speaks about Voldemort and myself."

"What does it say?" Ginny asked cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, judging by the looks that Harry and Hermione were wearing.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."_ Harry recited it from memory, and Hermione's heart twisted inside of her chest. Everyone was staring at him now, except for Hermione and Neville.

"So, what?" Ginny asked, her voice taking on an edge of hysteria. "That means that either he dies, or-"

"Or I do," Harry finished for her. She paled.

"Longbottom was born at the end of July, too," a cool voice drawled. Harry, Hermione, and Neville all looked up in surprise at the blonde, who was now obviously keenly interested in the conversation. "And his parents were goody two-shoes as well. How do we know the prophecy wasn't referring to him?"

"Dumbledore said that Voldemort chose me over Neville when he decided to come after me."

"Why would he choose you over Neville?" Angelina asked gently.

"Voldemort had a Muggle-born father," he explained, ignoring Malfoy's penetrating _glare. _"So Dumbledore thinks that he saw commonalities between us. Neville's parents are both purebloods."

"Why do you need us, then?" Malfoy spat suddenly. Hermione looked up at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Why do you need _us?_ The prophecy is perfectly clear about Potter being the only one able to kill the bastard, so why do you need us?"

"We've been working for years to try and infiltrate his inner circle. Snape lost his life doing so." Malfoy moved suddenly, but Hermione was the only one who caught it, and she continued before anyone else noticed. "Dumbledore thinks that war will be over soon. He says that the signs all point that way, but if we can't even get close to him, there's no hope for our side. We kill the Death Eaters, leave Voldemort alone and friendless, and it puts Harry at an advantage for the battle between them."

She cleared her throat again, and looked appraisingly at Harry. They would do it for him. Hermione felt like she had been preparing for this her whole life. The fire crackled suddenly, drawing them out of the reverie.

"Well, that's a bit of happy news, right?" Ginny asked lightly.

"Did you think it would be otherwise when your brother approached you?"

"No, but it's different hearing it from you." Everyone except Malfoy began nodding their heads in agreement. He was back against the wall, and he appeared to be as bored as ever.

"Now I need to pass these out to all of you." She poked around in the large bag she had brought with her, and removed several bits of parchment. One by one she handed them to the recruits, and then she sat back down.

"You've _got_ to be fucking kidding, right?" The parchments had Hermione's handwriting on them, neat and precise.

**DAILY SCHEDULE**

_**5:00 – 8:00 am - Calisthenics**_

_**8:00- 8:45 am - Breakfast**_

_**8:45- 9:00 am - BREAK**_

_**9:00- 12:00 pm - Magical Defenses (Spells/Potions)**_

_**12:00- 1:00 pm - Lunch**_

_**1:00- 3:00 pm - Muggle Training**_

_**3:00- 3:15 pm - BREAK**_

_**3:15- 5:00 pm - Defensive Training**_

_**5:00- 6:30 pm - Meeting**_

_**6:30- 7:15 pm - Dinner**_

_**7:15- 9:00 pm - Free Time**_

_**9:00 pm - Lights Out **_

"You scheduled everything?" Angelina asked, suppressing a smile. Hermione nodded.

"Structure is important when we have so much to accomplish."

"This is a fucking joke," Draco commented, tossing his paper to the small table that was positioned at the end of the couch. "Malfoys don't operate on schedules."

"They do now. More importantly, however, do they generally speak of themselves in the third person? Because I find that _very_ annoying, Draco," Hermione said in a breezy voice as she marched around the room, checking their schedules for any mistakes. Ginny and Angelina stifled giggles at the blond man's visible irritation; twice he opened his mouth to speak, and twice he clamped it shut. Hermione's private conversation with Malfoy must have had some impact on him. The third time he opened his mouth, it was clear from the lines on his face that he was censoring himself.

"You can't _seriously_ expect us to be up at five o'clock every bloody morning?"

"Not _every_ morning. You have Sundays to yourselves."

_"One day?_ That's incredible!" He sneered.

"What's incredible is the fact that you've known me most of your life, and the fact that I drew up a schedule still surprises you."

"She's got a point," Harry remarked, grinning broadly. Hermione didn't know what surprised the blonde man more – that Harry had spoken amicably to him, or that he was _smiling_ at him. In either case, it was perfectly clear that Malfoy was caught off guard.

"Of course, if any of you would prefer a religious service of some sort," Hermione began, glancing up to see if anyone wanted one. When no one indicated otherwise, she nodded. "No religious services, then."

"It's almost eight o'clock now," Ginny pointed out, studying her schedule. "Why did you offer us breakfast earlier today?"

"Momentary lapse of reason," Harry teased, smiling flirtily at Ginny. Ginny returned his smile.

"I'd forgotten," Hermione admitted. "I suppose it was my subconscious telling me to go easy on you for the first morning. Don't expect it to happen again, especially now that I'll be expecting all of you to commit the schedule to memory. I don't want to have to come and fetch you every time you're expected to be somewhere," she commented, letting her eyes drift towards Malfoy. He blatantly ignored her.

"Now, shall we all try this breakfast thing again? Draco and I will make the coffee."


	10. Chapter 10

**_Naughty language in this chapter. If you don't like it, don't read it._**

**Chapter Ten**

"Pansy?" Ron scrambled to pull the sheet up over his naked body. "What the fuck is going on?"

She pursed her lips. She had suspected that he would revert to his holier-than-thou attitude in the morning, but she had_ hoped_ he wouldn't. She rose from her seat on the bed and grabbed one of the steaming cups on the dressing table. After taking a small sip, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're not going to cry rape now, are you?"

Ron bristled and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands in an attempt to wake himself up. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and the sun streaming in through the uncurtained windows wasn't helping any.

"What did you _do_ to me?" She laughed, but it was such a bitter noise that it sounded like nails on a blackboard to Ron.

"To _you?_ What did _I _do to _you?"_ She took another sip of tea. Her eyes flashed with amusement as Ron made a big deal about pulling the sheet with him as he tried to get up from the bed. "Has it really been so long since you did this that you've forgotten the fundamentals? I knew that that bushy-haired brat wasn't taking care of business."

Ron stopped mid-step and glared at Pansy, despite the feeling of nausea that was roiling in his stomach. "I _love_ Hermione," he snapped, his head spinning. "I don't know what happened last night, but it wasn't love, Pansy, and we both know it."

Pansy recoiled slightly, stung by his words. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know about you, boss, but it seemed to me as though you were rather enjoying it, love or not."

"I wouldn't really know, would I? You had me drugged, or something." Pansy snorted at this.

"Drugged? Oh, please. You're an absolute lark, do you know that? I don't have to drug you to get you into my bed."

"I'm going to throw up." He put his hand in front of his mouth as he gagged. Pansy rolled her eyes and gestured to the open doorway next to the bed. He practically ran from the room and slammed the door behind him, and seconds later, Pansy heard him retching into the toilet.

"You know, last night I predicted you would behave this way, remember?" she yelled toward the bathroom door. She heard his muffled response but couldn't decipher it. Then, in a mocking tone, more to herself, "No, I won't, Pansy! I swear!" She had made him swear on Merlin's name that he wanted her before they'd even left the pub. Fat lot of good that'd done her.

Several minutes later, he emerged from the loo, red-faced and soaked in sweat. He gripped the doorjamb for support and shot a glare in her direction. "This is never going to happen again, do you hear me? _Never._ It hasn't happened now."

"The hell it didn't," Pansy said acidly, taking a slow step towards him. When he didn't retreat, she advanced several more steps, until she was standing directly in front of him. "You know, you did some pretty kinky things last night. I don't remember you ever liking those sorts of things when we were in school."

Red as he was already, the crimson of his face seemed to deepen even more at her suggestion. Struggling to maintain his balance, he fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes.

"Why do you have to do this? Why couldn't you have just left me the hell alone?"

"You were the one who suggested drinks. What did you really expect to happen, that we'd skip off to the library and chat? I'm not Granger," she flinched slightly as she said the name, and moved slowly toward the bed, afraid she would frighten him.

"_I_ suggested drinks?" he asked, sounding confused. Pansy reached out and began to massage his temples. He recoiled from her touch at first, but after several moments, he relaxed.

"I don't know why you're fighting this so hard," she murmured, her fingertips working against his aching skin. "We could be good together again."

"We were never good together in the first place," he said quietly. "Nothing should have ever happened between us."

"You sound remarkably similar to a red-headed boy I knew back in school," she said playfully, letting her hands rest gently on the top of his head. "He used to skulk around the castle behind me, sending anonymous notes to meet him in the Room of Requirement. He was convinced that we would be found out if we ever met anywhere else. I always wondered what would be so bad about us being open about our relationship."

Ron sighed and started to open his mouth but Pansy continued speaking in the same wistful tone.

"He left me, you know. The term was almost over, and we were all preparing for graduation - life after Hogwarts, and such. That last night we were together - he was acting so strangely - I had actually convinced myself he was going to ask me to –" She caught herself before she let the words fall from her lips, but it was a futile effort.

"Pansy-"

"Instead," she cut him off, "he said it was over, just like that. Afterward I couldn't even talk to him. He'd decided that he was in love with his best friend and had no place for someone like me in his life. He broke my heart."

Ron twisted to look her in the eyes. "I broke _your_ heart? Look, you can lie to me all you want, but we both know that our breakup was the best thing either of us could have ever hoped for – even though we weren't really _together_ in anything more than a physical capacity."

"How can you say that?" she demanded. "You know I keep my mouth shut when you get up on your moral high horse, like I always have. But right now-" She gestured wildly to the empty room. "Right now, it's just you and me. Are you honestly going to sit there and act like I meant _nothing_ to you?"

Ron sighed and sat up slowly, effectively disengaging himself from her. For a few tense moments they stared at one another. Ron tried not to notice how pretty she looked - had _always_ looked - in the morning. Her pale cheeks were rosy, and her tousled golden hair hung down her back. She looked like an angel – if angels could ever be foul-mouthed and self-servient.

"You meant - _Gods,_ Pansy! I don't know _what_ you meant to me! I didn't know that _I_ meant that much to _you!_ I thought we were - that we were -" His head stopped pounding, his stomach stopped rumbling, and he was seventeen years old again as she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him.

"You thought that we were what?" she asked softly, her fingertips tracing small circles on the skin of his shoulder.

"I thought that you were just doing what you did with me to get back at Malfoy for breaking things off with you!"

"Then why didn't I ever tell Draco that we were seeing each other?"

"I never knew that you hadn't," Ron answered truthfully, his pulse quickening as her fingers moved to stroke his neck lazily.

"Do you want to know what I think? I think that what happened between us _scared_ you. I think that the only reason you went running to that bushy-haired bint is because it was what was expected of you."

"And I think that you've skipped a few bumps on your trip down memory lane, Pans. I left you and started seeing Hermione because at the time, you wouldn't commit to joining the Order. I couldn't be with someone who was trying to play both sides of the fence. I told you that." Ron shook his head and rose from the bed. Pansy watched as he pulled his shirt on, and then the meaning of his words hit her full force.

"He's really that important to you, isn't he?" He stopped buttoning his shirt and trained wide eyes on her.

"Who? Dumbledore?"

"Don't be stupid – we both know I was talking about Potter." Ron averted his eyes and continued buttoning his shirt, although Pansy noticed that his fingers were trembling now.

"Yes, he is that important to me," Ron said softly. "And to the _rest_ of the Wizarding world, for that matter. This reaches far beyond my friendship with Harry, though. It's about human decency and doing the right thing - instead of just sitting back and waiting to see who will emerge as the victor." Pansy bristled and scratched her head with both hands, exasperated.

"I've _clearly_ chosen a side! I work at the Ministry! I begged and pleaded to be a part of this project - I even shunned my cherished cousin Flora when she joined the death eaters! What more can I possibly do?"

"Why, exactly, did you do all of that? And don't pretend I had anything to do with it, because we both know that I didn't."

"I-I don't know why. Besides, what does it matter how I got here, as long as I got here?"

"The means are just as important as the end, if not more so."

"Really? So how do you justify your little team of murderers, then?"

"First of all, it's not _my_ team, it's Dumbledore's. Hermione came up with the idea, we both planned it, and we took it to him. He chose the recruits, not us. Secondly, haven't you ever heard of 'an eye for an eye'?"

Pansy frowned at him. "I think you're leaving off the end of that adage."

"What?"

"It's a famous quote from Gandhi, right? It goes 'An eye for an eye will make the whole nation blind.' So if everyone practiced what you're suggesting to me, then everyone would probably be dead. Since when is it right to kill someone just because they've killed?"

Ron's jaw was hanging loose as he stared at her. He coughed and sputtered several times before gathering his wits and responding. "Since when are you so well read? And since when are you able to get up on a moral high horse?" He frowned and swallowed the thought that had popped immediately into his mind - _Even Hermione couldn't have argued it better._

She pursed her lips as she shook her head. "Look, it's too early in the morning for this type of conversation. Why can't you just accept that things have changed, and we can get on with our lives – together?"

"I can't do that," he said softly. "You _know_ I can't do that."

"Why not?" she demanded angrily. "You don't love her, you know. It's the same thing you feel for Potter – a sense of duty. That's a far cry from love."

"So are my feelings for you," he said flatly. She stared after him, open-mouthed, as he disapparated.

* * *

"I _can_ do this by myself, you know," Draco said acidly, watching Hermione fill the glass coffee pot with water from the tap. She flashed him a bright smile and shrugged.

"I just thought I'd help, since I'm not sure how much experience you have with Muggle devices – and since I don't want a repeat of this morning's near disaster."

"It didn't happen for lack of experience, Mud-" He stopped himself as her head whipped around and she fixed him with an icy glare. _"Granger."_ He bit the name out as though it were painful for him and continued. "I make coffee the Muggle way every morning - I'm just a little shaky today." Hermione flipped the switch on the pot after she finished filling it and sat down at the table, her expression unreadable.

"It's called withdrawal, Malfoy. Your body is protesting the sudden change in your alcohol intake. It's a common side affect for alcoholics going through detoxification. The yellow coloring of your skin is another." She gestured to the pale skin on his arm. He snorted and moved as though he was going to sit in the chair opposite her, but thought better of it and continued leaning against the counter, his palms splayed across the surface, and the signature smirk plastered across his face.

"I'm not an alcoholic by choice. This is the state I've been reduced to, thanks to your narrow minded ilk and their witch hunts." It was Hermione's turn to laugh.

"You're calling _us_ narrow minded? You, who considers anyone without 'pure' blood to be totally inferior to _you?"_

"What would you call it when someone is punished because of their families' beliefs?"

"You tell me," she challenged, meeting his glare with one of her own. "Since for years you saw fit to terrorize the Weasleys for believing that Muggles and Muggle-born people with magical abilities are something more than chattel to be trampled on." Draco's jaw dropped slightly.

A scathing remark was on the tip of his tongue when the kitchen door swung open and Neville appeared, wearing a very strange look on his sunken face.

"Hermione, I think the chattel are getting restless." She turned away in an effort to keep from laughing, and covered her giggles with a few well timed coughs.

"Right," she said, standing abruptly. "Draco, when you've finished your coffee, we'll be at the north end of the castle, on the beach. Put on something you can sweat in, and try not to dawdle," she called over her shoulder as she followed Neville from the room.

"Put on something you can sweat in? What am I - a Holstein?" He muttered under his breath and took a long drink of his coffee, spitting it out almost immediately as it burned his tongue. "Fuck."

* * *

"It's bloody cold out here," Harry complained, bouncing from one foot to another in an effort to get warm. Ginny gave him a crooked smile.

"It's not that cold," she said, shaking her head. "And besides, I expect that we'll be warm soon enough – once Hermione gets out here and starts with us."

"Calisthenics," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "That's something women do when they go to work out and can't do real stuff." Ginny's eyes narrowed as she glared at him.

"Excuse me? And what exactly do you think '_real stuff_' is?"

"Lifting weights, flying – you know, _manly_ stuff like that! Not this nancy stretching nonsense."

"Well, prepare to become a member of the nancy tribe," Ginny replied sweetly, watching Neville and Hermione nearing.

"All right," Hermione said, pulling her hair up into a rather bouncy knot on top of her head. "Before we can do any heavy lifting, so to speak, we need to stretch, and then work on cardio." She bent over at the waist, and began touching her toes as the group simply stared at her, their mouths open wide.

"Hermione, what exactly does 'cardio' mean?" Ginny was looking at her as though she'd gone completely round the twist.

"Stop getting ahead of me." She snapped as her head disappeared between her legs again. "Stretch out those muscles or you'll be sorry later." When no one moved, she sighed.

"Al lright, but believe me, tomorrow you'll all be stretching like cats." She did a few quick pulls on her arms. "Cardio it is."

"And, what exactly is that?" Ginny piped again.

"It means we're going to run."

"Run?" Angelina echoed incredulously. "You mean as in running for Quidditch practice?"

"It's going to be similar," Hermione agreed, nodding. "But a lot longer, and a lot more intense." She turned her eyes towards her best friend, who was snorting with laughter. "What's funny about that, Harry?"

"How can _your_ running be any more intense than what we had to do at school?"

"I don't know what your coach was making you do, Potter, but as I recall, Quidditch practices were always bloody fucking well exhausting," Draco drawled softly. Harry gave a start and turned to look at the blonde who was standing behind him, stretching his legs.

"Maybe that was why you lost all of your matches, Malfoy," Harry shot back, his eyes sparkling. "Because your ickle coach made you practice until you had nothing left to give on the pitch."

Out of nowhere Neville's hand had closed around Harry's arm and they were sprinting down the beach, the sand flying behind them.

"I"ll have to thank Neville later," Hermione muttered as she continued to bend at the waist.

"Yes, Granger, good idea. He's just saved Potty from another beating." Draco's face had gone from pale to crimson in a matter of seconds and Hermione could tell that he was just aching to tackle to Harry. She sighed impatiently and sat down on the beach, her legs spread wide as she bent forward, stretching her arms between her legs.

"What are you, five years old? Did you never learn how to handle a taunt with maturity?" She asked between deep breaths.

Ginny rolled her eyes, sensing that one of Hermione's diatribes was about to come spewing out, and grabbed Angelina's arm.

"Let's go. Can't let the boys think we can't keep up."

"Right," Angelina nodded, taking off and pulling slightly ahead of Ginny. Draco narrowed his eyes at Hermione.

"I thought you had a little pep talk with the rest of your dream team and they'd agreed to leave me the hell alone!"

"As I recall," Hermione snapped, rising to her feet. "You said the same thing."

"I can't be expected to just lie there and take it when Potter is constantly baiting me!"

"You can't honestly expect him to ignore you if you don't ignore him, too!" she said, her voice rising.

"I don't expect anything from the lot of you except what I've _always_ gotten!" he shouted back, his face contorting with rage. "You've always treated me with contempt and suspicion, so why should things change now?"

"We treated you with contempt and suspicion because you gave us reason to! If you want to be treated differently, give us a reason to do it!" Before he could issue forth his scathing reply, she took off down the beach, jogging to catch up to the rest of the group.

"Mudblood," he growled, kicking out at the sand and realizing too late that it hadn't been a good idea. The sand floated up into his eyes and caused him to double over, scrubbing viciously at his face. When his eyes finally stopped watering, he watched as the team's forms grew smaller in the distance, and realized he'd be subjected to even more unpleasantness if he finished even half a meter behind Potter.

"Just keep thinking about the goal," he panted as he took off after her. "Think about returning to the manor." Deep breath. "The vault at Gringotts." He felt his chest begin to ache and his throat grow tight. It had been a very long time since he had done anything more than lift a snifter to his lips in the name of exercise, but still he pushed on, his hatred for all of them mightier than his own physical weakness.

"Whatever it takes. Just do whatever it takes to get it all back." A plan began forming in his head as his feet pounded on the sand and he caught up with Granger.

She tilted her head sideways, giving the slightest indication that she was aware of his presence. He ignored the roaring headache that the new activity was causing, and managed to move in front of her.

He could just see the back of Potter's head, and he was sorely tempted to laugh when he realized that the youngest Weasley was leading the group of runners. He made a mental note to be sure and pass through the common area at least once after dinner, to hear the verbal thrashing that Potter was sure to receive from her.

* * *

"Brutal day!" Neville fell into the chair next to Angelina and let out a long sigh. From the slouched posture of the others, Neville knew he wasn't the only one whose limbs felt like mush. Harry grunted in the direction of the salt and Ginny interpreted this as a request.

"There's no need to resort to speaking in Troll, Harry," she said as she passed him the salt. Another grunt was his only reply.

"What's the matter with speaking in Troll?" Hermione asked, seating herself at the end of the table, where Malfoy was bent silently over his food. Harry grunted again.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with it," Ginny amended, buttering a piece of warm bread. "I just thought that since not all of us understand it, Harry should use English."

"I wasn't speaking Troll, you ninny," Harry said, finally lifting his head. "I'm simply too tired to form coherent sentences."

"Amen, Potter." Angelina nodded her head wearily and let her fork drop from her limp hand back onto her plate. Neville - and even Draco, though he would have been hard pressed to admit it, had anyone been looking in his direction- began nodding in agreement.

"You're all soft." Ginny smirked, and nicked the bread from Harry's plate. "I would have thought a famous former Seeker would at least be able to beat a lowly Keeper in such a short run." Draco's ears perked up - he'd been waiting for this the entire day. It was the only thought that had sustained him through Granger's ridiculously organized schedule.

Harry managed a frown in Ginny's direction. "Hey! I was going to _eat_ that!"

"Then you should have eaten it, instead of complaining," she replied reasonably, sinking her teeth into the bread. "It really wasn't that bad, Harry. I think you just like to complain."

"Or maybe since I haven't had Quidditch practice every day for the last several years, I'm just not as in shape as _some_ people are," Harry answered, his voice tinged with anger. Ginny looked at him in surprise, and Draco noticed that even Hermione's fork stopped halfway to her mouth at his tone.

"It's nothing to get angry about," Ginny said, her eyes wide. "I just meant-"

"You were trying to say that I should have done better," Harry snapped. "Everyone _always_ thinks I should do better – have you nothing else to do besides criticize me?"

"Now hold on just a tic," Ginny said, her anger rising. Draco glanced back and forth between them eagerly, enjoying the little scene that was unfolding. Neville and Angelina were staring hard at their food. Hermione made a move to rise from her seat, but stopped abruptly when she felt a hand on her wrist. She stared down at the pale hand in surprise before lifting her brown eyes to meet his cool grey ones.

"Don't," Draco whispered, his eyes still on Potter. "Let them work it out themselves."

Hermione frowned and clamped her mouth shut before yanking her arm away from Draco's grasp.

"You can't generalize and say that I have nothing better to do, because I've been off living _my_ life, remember?" Ginny asked angrily, dropping the bread onto her plate and brushing crumbs off of her hand. "Just because you're overly sensitive about the way other people treat you doesn't mean that you can take it out on _me_."

"What?" Harry spluttered, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I'm not-"

"You _are_," she interrupted, wagging a finger at him. "Your little temper tantrums are what got you your reputation, Harry Potter, and I for one am not going to coddle you just to keep you from having them! You need to learn some self-control!"

"Self control?" he echoed angrily. Ginny pursed her lips and stared shrewdly at him, waiting for him to come up with some semblance of a response. When all he could do was splutter incoherently, she turned back to her food.

Harry, unable to take the uncomfortable silence their row had caused, rose from the table and stormed out of the room. Draco smirked and began shoveling his food into his mouth with renewed fervor, and Hermione frowned at him.

"I suppose you think that's funny, do you?" she hissed under her breath at him. He pretended not to have heard her, and glanced up.

"Hey, Weasley – pass the salt." Ginny shot him a brilliant smile as she pushed the salt down the table, and everyone gaped at the blonde in surprise. Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Was it worth it to trade Harry's peace with Ginny for any measure of peace between Draco and the rest of the team? She wondered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Ron practically jumped out of his chair when he heard the light tap on his door. Praying that it wasn't Pansy (although when had she ever bothered _knocking?_) and running a slightly shaking hand through his hair, he hurried to the door.

"Oh, Dad, it's just you!" He backed away from the door and allowed Arthur entrance.

"It's just me!" Arthur agreed good-naturedly, sitting in the chair opposite his youngest son. "Who, may I ask, were you expecting?" He had a peculiar look on his face as he watched Ron pretend to be busy sorting the papers on his desk.

"No one. I wasn't expecting anyone. What's up?" He knew he was flushed and tried to keep his head down as his father chuckled slightly.

"I hope you never attempt to lie to Hermione, Ron, because you're terrible at it, and she'd see through you before the words had even left your mouth." He laughed again as Ron scowled and finally gave up the ruse with the papers, throwing them into a heap on top of his desk.

"Dad, I've done something. Something … awful." He banged his head on the edge of his desk in exasperation - not for the first time that day - and recoiled in pain.

"Is it a work or personal 'something awful'?" Arthur leaned forward as Ron moved swiftly out of his chair and began to pace the room.

"It's… well, I guess… it's both." Ron continued to pace and Arthur leaned back in his chair, waiting for him to continue. Having watched Molly do this a thousand times with the children, he knew that he had to keep his mouth shut until Ron was ready to talk.

"Last night, I," Ron paused. "After work, I went-" The door swung open and Ron's next words died on his lips as Pansy stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, and a deep scowl plastered onto her face. Briefly Ron wondered if all women wore the same expression when they were angry.

"Ronald Weasley, how _dare _you –" The words died on her lips when her eyes fell on Arthur, who was staring mildly at her. Her cheeks turned pink, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, as though she was struggling to say something and had decided against it.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Parkinson?" Ron asked, placing deliberate emphasis on her last name. She cleared her throat and stiffened where she stood.

"I was just wondering if you'd gotten the memo from Miss Granger this morning," she said coolly, reigning her emotions in.

"Memo?" Ron asked, blinking. "No, I didn't. Where is it?"

"I'll bring it to you right away." She turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Ron alone with his Father.

"Ron, what have you done?" Arthur asked softly. Ron turned startled eyes to his father.

"I- I-" But he couldn't do it. In the few hours since he'd disapparated from her flat, Ron had been hiding in his office, trying to convince himself that too much work had caused him to hallucinate the whole thing. He couldn't admit what had happened to himself, let  
alone his father. "Nothing," he said quietly. He took a deep breath and tried to make his lips form a smile.

"What did you need Dad? I've got a meeting later with Bilby, and I still need to get the numbers before we can start planning a new budget." Arthur sighed. Ron would tell him when he chose to, and not a moment before; he knew that as well as he knew the colour of the sky.

"All right, Ron. The reason I stopped in was-" He suddenly looked stricken, and older than the last time Ron had seen him. The position of Minister was taking its toll on the once jovial Weasley patriarch.

"We've been interviewing the Death Eaters again. It's policy now, you know, to interview the ones we catch every six months, in case some of them are still under a slow changing Imperius, or on the off chance they want to save their skins and pass along some new information."

"And?"

"Well, we had a curious report come through last night. Seems one of them - I'll have to check the report when I get back to my office to see who, exactly - is willing to trade information on the identity of those responsible for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's murders."

Ron gaped at his Father. "And what is this person asking for in return for giving this information?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "His freedom."

"You can't _do_ that, Dad!" Ron protested, his cheeks turning rosy. "That defeats the entire purpose of the interrogations!"

"We have to think about the greater good, Ron. I'd be more than willing to trade one man's freedom for a known killer's name and location."

"How can you be sure he'd be telling you the truth?"

"He's agreed to take Veritaserum."

"Dad," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. "You know just as well as I do that the Death Eaters were trained to be able to resist Veritaserum."

Arthur sighed heavily. "I know. But, if he _is_ telling the truth, then we can finally find out, perhaps, how to deal with the enchantments surrounding the Manor, and the vaults below it. The person who killed the Malfoys has information that we need. He, she, or they were able to penetrate places that we haven't been able to come close to. You remember what happened to Hermione when she tried to do more than walk the corridors there, right?" Ron nodded, also remembering the week that she'd spent in St. Mungo's, recovering from the curses she'd suffered inside the Manor. "Dumbledore thinks that Voldemort may have given important – _extremely_ important – artifacts to Lucius before he died, and we need to find them."

"What 'artifacts'? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Ron asked hotly.

"I didn't even know until a few weeks ago, and we don't know for certian yet, but Dumbledore seems sure of it. Knowing what I do about Lucius Malfoy, it wouldn't surprise me to find another Basilisk in the catacombs below that place."

"Has Dumbledore agreed to the pardon of this prisoner?" Ron asked, sighing in defeat.

"He agrees with me, that it would be worth setting one person free in order to capture someone more dangerous. Besides, after we set him free, we'd still keep him under very close surveillance."

"What happens when the prisoner names the so-called guilty party?"

"Naturally the named person will have to come forward and face the Wizengamot."

Without thinking, Ron said in a shaky voice, "If they wanted to get past the Manor's charms so badly, why didn't they just ask Draco how to do it?"

"We did at his inquiry." Arthur sighed heavily again. "He claimed that Lucius was the only one who knew how to get past the protection that Abraxas Malfoy placed around the Manor before he died."

Ron muttered something unintelligible, and the expression on Arthur's face changed. "Speaking of Draco, his stipend was returned this morning. Seems he's up and left his flat without giving the ministry a forwarding address." Arthur watched Ron's face closely, as though this information might provoke a specific reaction.

"Mmhmm." But Ron had learned, after being Harry's best friend for over fifteen years, to keep his head down and his mouth shut when he didn't want to give himself away.

"I mentioned it to Dumbledore this morning, and he said nearly the same thing. Ron, what aren't you telling me? Has something happened to Draco Malfoy?" Ron threw his quill down on the desk and leveled a blank expression at this father.

"Dad, I'm only going to have this conversation once, all right?"

Arthur looked abashed. He was, after all, the minister of magic, not to mention Ron's father - but Ron's dealings were often of a secret nature, and after a few years, Arthur had learned to give him a certain amount of rope. He nodded.

"I'm not telling you anything specific, only that Malfoy and a few others are out of contact for an unspecified amount of time."

"Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, too, no doubt." Arthur ticked their names off on his fingers, but Ron's face remained as blank as Harry had trained him to do during an inquiry.

"This is for everyone's protection, alright? I'm not saying anything else."

"I could find out if I wanted to, you know."

"You _could_, but if you trust me - and I'm sure you do - then you'll leave well enough alone." Arthur nodded, resignation etched across his features.

"Your Mum wanted you to come round for dinner tonight. Do you think you'll be able to get out of here in time?"

"I can't, Dad. I'm up to my ears in paperwork." Not to mention that Pansy would most definitely be back. She was probably on the other side of the door as they spoke, waiting for his father to leave. Even though he knew he had to deal with the situation, he wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

Ginny had just finished changing into her worn flannel pyjamas when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she padded to the door and swung it open.

"Oh – Malfoy," she said, sighing. "Come in." Draco followed her, leaving the door slightly ajar, and sat down on the chair in the corner. He watched as she began folding the clothes she'd worn earlier.

"You know," he drawled softly, "I don't blame you one bit for lashing out at Potter during dinner." Ginny stopped folding and turned to give him an incredulous look.

"Lashing out? I wasn't lashing out, I just wasn't putting up with his 'poor me' routine."

"Whatever the case, you can't be faulted for it," he said silkily, his eyes darting towards the door. A shadow passed by once, then twice, and Draco smirked to himself when the shadow finally stopped and stood just on the other side of the door. "He brought it on himself. Who does he think he is, to take his anger out on _you_, when you've been nothing but nice to him?"

"I know," she said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I just don't understand why he keeps his temper with everyone else, but then lets it loose on me." She paused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Malfoy, I know you didn't just come in here for a friendly chat. What do you want? We have to be up in 6 hours."

"How do you know I didn't 'just come in here for a friendly chat?' You're the only one who's been even somewhat decent to me. I just thought I'd return the favor. I knew you'd be upset about Potter." He looked sincere, she couldn't deny that, but why did his eyes keep flitting toward the door?"That's not true," she said, getting up from the bed and returning to the wardrobe to retrieve her hair brush. "Hermione was the one who insisted that we all get on. If you want to return kindness to anyone, it's _her _that you should be talking to." She sat back down on the bed and began pulling the brush through her long hair, eyeing him warily.

"Granger's motivation wasn't nearly as pure as yours," he denied vehemently. "She just doesn't want her _authority_ to be questioned. She could care less if my throat gets slashed in the middle of the night by Scarhead." Ginny laughed and leveled a reproachful glare at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Harry has no sense of stealth. If he wanted to slash your throat, he'd walk up to you in the middle of a bright afternoon so you could see the knife glint in the sunlight."

"Well that makes me feel so much better," he responded dryly. When his eyes darted towards the door again, Ginny frowned. She rose from the bed and yanked the door open, only to have Harry fall face-first to the floor in front of her. Draco sniggered as Harry scrambled to his feet.

"Why are you eavesdropping on me?" Ginny demanded, ignoring Draco for the moment. Harry's face flushed.

"I was coming to talk to you about what happened at dinner, when I realized that you had company," he said, glaring at the blonde. "And I use that term very loosely."

"What _don't_ you do that's loose?" Draco asked, highly amused. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Fine – if that's how the two of you are going to behave, you can both just leave." She held the door open and indicated that Draco should go. He stood and smoothed his shirt out, passing by Harry with another snigger.

"Gin, I really-" His words were cut off when she slammed the door in his face.

Thirty seconds later found him knocking on Hermione's door, the various emotions raging through him like a storm bent on total destruction. Wordlessly, Hermione opened the door to allow him inside her room, and then shut it behind him.

"He was in her room again!" He practically shouted. Hermione _shush_ed him and sat beside him on her narrow bed. She sighed. The day had been long and trying, and she looked exhausted – not to mention, Harry was quite sure, impatient with him.

"And?"

_"And?"_ He shouted again, but this time Hermione rapped him hard on top of the head. Rubbing the soon-to-be-lump, he continued in a strained whisper. "And? That's _all_ you have to say? You're running this show, surely you don't want us-"

"Want you _what,_ Harry?" She leaned back to rest her head on the pillow and shut her eyes.

"Fraternizing!" He slapped her on the leg to get her attention. A noise of surprise escaped her before she used the same leg to push him onto the floor, keeping her eyes shut tight the entire time.

"So, what were they _doing?"_ Harry scrambled up from the floor and pushed her legs out of the way to reclaim his seat on the bed.

"Nothing, thank God. Talking." Talking about _him,_ no less! And what Ginny had said about slashing Malfoy's throat... He smiled sheepishly. She was spot on about that. "And 'talking' constitutes - what did you call it? 'Fraternizing?'"

"No, but-"

"Then, following your logic, you've been fraternizing with Neville for the past two days. You're right, Harry. We can't have that."

_"Hermione!"_ She sat up and began rubbing her eyes.

"Look, I have more important things to be worrying about than Malfoy's room hopping, all right? And so do you."

"I know," he started. She shook her head and cut him off.

"We skipped defensive training with spells today, did you notice that?"

"Not really. I was so exhausted from the blasted running, everything that followed was a total wash." She pursed her lips.

"I've been working out the best way to ask you this, but I'm too tired for pretense or flattery at this point. I need you to train the team in defensive spells." It wasn't a question, and she gave Harry a pointed look to make sure that he understood.

"Why can't you do it?" he asked, nonplussed. She let her eyes drift shut before she answered.

"I _could_ do it, I suppose, but I'm rather inclined to think that you'd be better at it. The team knows that you've faced Voldemort before, and I think that they'd be more attentive to you."

"You've got to be taking the mickey out of me," he said incredulously. A heavy silence hung between them for several moments, and then: "Malfoy would never listen to me."

"I think you're wrong." Harry frowned at her. "Besides, it'd be just like the DA, wouldn't it, except that you're only teaching five people."

"Five?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Well you'd be teaching me, too, of course." His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You? What could I possibly have to teach _you_ that you don't already know?" She smiled.

"How to be impulsive, for starters. How to think on my feet."

"Of course you know how to be impul-" His voice faded when she started laughing. It was a downright lie, and they both knew it. He slapped her leg again and her eyes shot open.

"I've heard you say it a hundred times, Harry. 'When you face him all you've got are your instincts and your guts.' Everything I've learned from books is rubbish now, and you know it." She rubbed the red mark on her leg and his hand closed over hers.

"No worries, love. I've actually been thinking about this, and I think I've got a few ideas that will help _all_ of us 'think better on our feet.'" She sat up again, her expression excited despite her obvious exhaustion.

"Have you? What?" He rose from the bed and moved towards the door, only stopping to look over his shoulder after he'd opened it.

"We'll talk about it at breakfast tomorrow." He said, before disappearing through the door.

* * *

Ron was just putting the finishing touches on some paperwork when his door flew open and Pansy stormed into his office, her blonde hair flying around her face.

He dropped his quill onto the desktop and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Would you please shut the door before this conversation begins? I don't particularly fancy having half of the Ministry hearing the sordid details."

Pansy slammed the door shut with unnecessary force, then turned and arched an eyebrow at him. "That better, _Boss?_"

"For Merlin's sake," he swore, staring at her. "I was _drunk_, and it was _one night_. Why can't we let it be at that?"

_He's pleading_, she thought warily. She bit her lip, closed her eyes and then reopened them; repeating the movement several times in an effort to stall the wetness that was threatening to break free. Finally, after several seconds of the embarrassing display, she put her head in her hands and fell into the seat opposite his desk.

"You really _don't _want me, then, do you?"

Ron blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to change tempo so quickly; with Hermione, it always took hours after a fight for her to calm down, no matter who had started it or what it had been about. Hermione had been known to seethe and shoot nasty looks at him, and he had expected no less from Pansy. However, the woman in front of him looked nothing short of devastated.

He wasn't used to seeing Pansy Parkinson look beaten, and he didn't like it.

"That's not it," he blurted, before he could help himself. He kicked himself mentally the second the words had escaped. He'd just spent numerous days trying to convince her that they didn't stand a chance together, and here he was, saying things that might give her hope. What in the hell had gotten into him?

They looked at each other for a long time, and then she smiled. He reflected later that it was the most sincere smile she had ever shown him.

"So," he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to signal a subject change, "Where's Hermione's memo?"

She sat back in her chair and smirked. "There isn't one."

"There isn't one?" he echoed, disbelief etched across his face. "Why would you make something like that up?"

"I had to say _something_ to explain why I burst into your office unannounced like that, didn't I?" she asked reasonably. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Parkinson, you'll be the death of me."


End file.
